


Frilla

by MissNMikaelson



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vikings, Eventual Smut, F/M, Klaroline, Klaroline AU Week, Multi, Viking AU, Vikings, archive warnings do NOT apply to KLAROLINE, or Kolena, or any of the cannon couples
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24632458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNMikaelson/pseuds/MissNMikaelson
Summary: Caroline has spent her entire life in one place. She intended to spend the rest of her life in that same place, married to a moderately well off farmer and acting as the mother to his heirs assuming they survived. Small village girl, small village life. She told herself everything was fine.It wasn't enough.She wanted more. She hoped and she prayed for more.Then the invaders came.Now she's not a wife.'Frilla', she doesn't understand the word but she knows that it describes her new position at his side. As a spoil of war her fate could have been a lot worse.
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert/Kol Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson/Katherine Pierce
Comments: 69
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own TVD or TO.

Distant screams sent chills down her spine, travelling closer with each second that ticked past, beckoning unspoken horror to her door.

And the horror would find her.

Cowering in her father's house hardly counted as concealment. The plain home sat in the direct path of the incoming terror, and as one of the few dwellings belonging to a wealthy family it was certain to be targeted; where most people in the village had one room, but since they were wealthy they had two.

She huddled beneath the window, wedged into the tight spot that was the darkest point in the house; smoke from the fire billowed through the broken glass, concealing her in a haze. She hugged her legs, praying she went unseen by the invaders. From what she could hear over her pounding heart the brutes were only giving the homes a cursory glance before moving to the next one.

She tucked in tight, rapidly blinking thick smoke from her stinging eyes.

Hide, she had to hide - remain out of sight until someone overlooked her and then bolt for the woods when the coast was clear. But every gasp punctuated sentence stretched endlessly ahead, urging her to risk a look.

Lifting one hand she gripped the window sill and knelt, peeking through the window, careful to keep her bright hair out of sight. A hulking man stood with his back to her. His leather clad shoulders concealed all beyond.

He yanked his arm back and swung round, revealing a blood stained face under hair black as night.

Her eyes snapped to the ashen face of her intended's father. Time until that point had felt slow, and she wished fervently that it was still the case, but the first spurt of red set time in motion, careening faster than it ever had in her eighteen years.

The blood came in rivulets, soaking the front of his tunic and staining his chin. The life drained from Aland's eyes before his knees hit the ground.

A blood curdling scream turned her limbs to stone. She recognized the piercing shrieks as her own when the murderer kicked in her door.

Burly hands shoved her into the wall. Her teeth clacked. A jolt traveled up her spine.

Her chest constricted, screams cutting off. She arched her neck, straining to escape the axe pressing against her rapid pulse.

"Please," she whimpered. Blood spattered his high cheekbones; she couldn't look away. Did it belong to her mother - her father? Was the blood more recent, belonging only to Aland?

"Blása latr kona. Einn vera ekki til deyja dagr." Foul breathe assaulted her senses.

She gagged; swallowing bile. Her throat expanded, pressing the axe closer. Hot blood trickled between her breasts.

His cold eyes followed the line.

He lowered the weapon. A single sweep of his arm sent pottery crashing down. It broke into shards, scattering as he yanked her through the mess and tossed her stiff body over the table.

Her struggles against his hold, but she was no match for his muscle.

Her chin hit the wood, stinging as a splinter embedded beneath her skin.

She tried to push back up.

The ax pressed against her cheek not quite close enough to break skin but a clear warning nevertheless.

"Nei, smíða ekki vaða!"

His free hand fumbled and groped. She made an undignified squeak. Her skirts rose and she squirmed, attempting to throw the brute off of her.

He pressed the ax closer.

A sob broke through her lips. Her mind split in two factions that warred with each other to decide her next action. Two options stood before her, neither idea, but only one would allow for life. Continue to fight and meet the same fate as countless others, or stop.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears leaked out; her brow pressed to the rough wood, cold fingers curling around the edge of the table and dug into the wood.

The rest of her body stilled.

Fabric bunched around her waist. Something hard pressed to her shaking thighs.

She braced herself, wondering whether the submission meant she was weak or strong..

Penetration never came.

She cracked open one eye, rolling it to look up over her shoulder.

The man had craned his neck back, forced to acquiesce to the gleam of metal. The sight brought a surge of hope. For one glorious moment a smile of relief graced her features, but the voice that followed the sword dashed her spirits; it came in the same foreign syllables as her assailant.

"Hvat smíða _einn ætla einn vera_ smíða?" The deep voice clearly belonged to a woman. A faint glimmer of optimism fluttered to life. She dashed it quickly against the table.

"Fregna skaõa kona!"

"Nei."

A small hand grasped the neck of her dress, hoisting her up. Gleaming metal urged her attacker back. Her eyes burned, darting to the woman, but she made out little beyond the sword than a dark braid.

A word she understood came, spoken with a heavy accent as she was shoved backwards towards the broken door.

She required no more encouragement.

"Run!"

* * *

She cut a straight path she from the village; bolted through trees and kept the dirt road in sight as long as possible. Eventually the raucous shouts of men penetrated the loud thump in her ears, forcing her to abandon the road and veer deep into the forest

She crashed through underbrush; it tore at her skirt, snagging skin. Her left foot sank into a hole near the top of a long hill.

She tripped, tumbling forward.

Sticks scratched her arms and stones dug into her hips. She hit the bottom and flopped onto her stomach, taking a second to catch her breath. Her arms curled tight around her rock hard belly, clinging to something she didn't understand. Every inward breath seared through her lungs.

Pain radiated, circling around her ankle and licking up her calve.

Next to her ear a twig snapped.

She flinched, incapable of holding still.

A hand landed on her shoulder. She tilted her head down, catching sight of stained fingers. Where they touched red clung to her dress brighter than blood.

"Vera einn mein?"

She recognized a few of the words by sound – if not meaning – and swallowed, gritting her teeth as she looked higher. He was clothed in wool and armoured in leather with knives and a sword sheathed on his belt. If his words hadn't revealed him then his clothing would have.

He was one of them – one of the invaders attacking her village and murdering her people.

She pushed onto her hands, attempting to move away from him, but using her foot proved impossible. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was injured and there for the taking, but she couldn't stop the sharp cry nor the tears that gathered in her eyes.

She jerked further, pressing her back into the disturbed grass on the hill.

He held out his hands, stained palms facing her.

She swiped at her eyes, smearing dirt and tears across her cheeks. Midnight blue, vibrant purple and bright red decorated his skin in streaks that covered his arms to the elbow, but search as she did she couldn't spot a single drop of blood.

He said something else and reached for his belt.

"Don't!" She jerked back. A rock dug into her spine.

He unhooked something and held it out, pulling a stopper from the top.

Her brows lowered. She at the skein.

A bird broke into song overhead.

She reached slowly until her dirt covered fingers brushed stained ones. A tingle raced up her arms on contact.

She glanced up at his face and back down. It was his own water skein, so unlikely to be poisoned unless he had been anticipating her, but how could he have when she didn't know?

She lifted it intending only a sip, but when the cool water hit her tongue she drank deep stopping only when liquid spilled over her chin and stung.

She lowered the skein and pressed one hand to her broken skin. Something was stuck there and had been since she hit the table. She felt the splinter in her face, but was unable to find it with her shaking fingers.

"Sauõr ek?" He touched his fingers to his own chin and nodded to her.

She gripped the skein of water until the tips of her fingers turned white and shut her eyes. The container was pulled from her hand.

She heard water slosh around. There was a moment of silence where she braced herself again, waiting with baited breath for those fingers to curl around her legs or knock her over.

One act of kindness was surely all she would get.

Her heart stuttered when he finally touched her. Her eyes snapped open.

An expression of deep concentration knit his brow. Gentle fingers prodded her chin.

She hissed, fighting the urge to recoil.

His eyes snapped up to her – somewhere between the colour of the sky and the grass at her back – something akin to an apology flashed through his gaze.

He caught the splinter.

She hissed again.

He pulled it out, held tight between his thumb and forefinger.

She stared at the wood when he dropped it on the ground – roughly the length of her thumb nail.

He pressed a wet cloth to her chin and she yanked her face away.

They watched each other for a moment – neither moving – before he nodded once and held out the cloth, placing it in her open palm.

"Tómr," he pointed to a spot on his own chin and then to his throat.

She cleaned her face and swiped at the dry blood on her neck, trying to forget the ax that had caused the cut.

He motioned to her feet. She curled her legs in tighter and shook her head.

* * *

Dirt streaked her dress and skin, but was slowly disappeared under the rag. Leaves and twigs stuck in her hair; he suspected she would knock them free as soon as she became aware of their presence.

She could only have come from the village.

They had spent a week scouting out the area before mounting an attack and there were no other villages near enough for her to have come from.

He suspected he knew why she shied away from his touch, just as he suspected he knew how she had escaped.

He could hardly grudge her desire for distance, but if she didn't let him help her soon then any chance for a complete escape – assuming she could run at all – would be gone with the raiding party's return, but persistence and force were not the way.

So he left her to her devices for a few minutes and stepped away to the campsite he had been left to guard. A few horses pawed the ground at his appearance, but otherwise remained calm - more than familiar with his presence.

She had fallen just outside of camp so he could see her through the trees. He kept his back to her. The fact that she didn't try to run told him she probably couldn't.

The berries he had turned to paint remained precisely where he had left them. He picked up one of the shallow bowls the brush and a cloth before straightening up and whirling towards a snapping twig.

His eyes widened.

She swayed on her feet and he dropped his materials in time to surge forward and catch her under the arms.

"Notum autem vobis facio," she trembled, pushing against his chest.

He caught her under the knees, lifting her up.

"Prohibere!" She kicked her feet and shoved his chest, face turning bright red.

His legs bent as he knelt, placing her on a low stool in front of the fire.

"I need to look at this," he gestured to her skirt.

She curled her legs as close to the stool as she could and glared. Her fists shook at her sides.

Defiance shone in her eyes and pinned her shoulders.

"Very well," he moved to his own stool, picking up his art supplies again, "when you're ready, love."

* * *

She crossed her arms, forced her stiff fists to open and curled her cold fingers around her elbows, all the while steadfastly refusing to look at him. Instead she cast her eyes around the clearing. Once upon a time she had played in the field with her friends, but the trampled grass was covered with tents. Fire pits dotted the landscape and horses pawed at the dirt.

Despite the abundance of visual entertainment her eyes continually drew back to him.

His focus was on the cloth spread over his knees and supported by a length of wood, but she sensed he watched her - as keenly aware of her presence as she was of his.

She tilted her head, tracing the stick in his hand with narrow. Thread wrapped around the end, holding damp bristles in place. The moisture left a dark stain on the edge; every few minutes he would dip the stick into a shallow bowl for more of it.

Curiosity got the better of her and she braced her weight on the stool and her right foot so she could bend and pick up one of the bowls he wasn't using. A sweet smell rose from inside that she recognized as raspberries; the first of the season.

She dipped a finger inside, running the pad over the bowls curve, catching the runny liquid. A red bead ran down her finger when she lifted her hand, leaving behind a stain similar to the ones decorating his skin.

Her finger blurred as she focused beyond it finding him watching her carefully.

She held her breath and waited for him to snatch it away, or bark at her in those strange syllables but he didn't. He just tilted his head and watched for a moment before looking down and making sweeping motions with his hand.

He did that several more times before she moved, setting down the bowl with care and then gritting her teeth while moving it when it wasn't in the exact spot she had taken it from.

"Einn smíða ekki hafa smíða Þann, ást," he chuckled, tapping her wrist with the brush. The sound of his voice lulled her towards relaxation.

"What?" She blinked shaking her head.

He repeated the words, moving her hand back and nudging the bowl away from where it had been until the distance was glaring.

"Oh," she flushed, itching to right the situation. "What is that?" She pointed to the cloth, altering her focus.

Wordlessly he held it out and she took it, looking down at the bold sweeps and narrow lines he had made with blueberries. Her own face stared back at her, but it was her as she had never seen herself with a light in her eyes and something undeniably fetching in her features despite the debris in her hair.

Her hands flew to her head. Crushed leaves and blades of grass fell about her shoulders and into her lap.

He reached out slowly, keeping his hand in sight as he plucked a twig from her hair.

Tremors traveled up her leg from the ground as dozens of feet approached.

* * *

The invaders returned to their encampment amidst raucous laughter and mournful sobs.

A man clad in blood slick leather held a rope towards the middle of the crowd, leading bound individuals from her village.

She sat on her stool, thin fingers tensed in her lap; she recognized young women she had played with as a child and a few men her parents had withdrawn her from years ago when she approached marriageable age. It appeared that the young and able bodied had been taken from the village after inflicted injuries.

Matthew bled from several cuts and a broken nose.

William and Turstin could barely stand.

Cassandra, Viviane and Letitia huddled as close as the ropes would allow appearing unharmed but shaken; sandwiched between the others it took her a moment to notice Viviane's pronounced limp.

Although in her defence she was also rather distracted, it was difficult not to be at the sight of a woman in full battle armour. Until that moment she had been certain she imagined her rescuer, but there she stood shooting a dirty look at the leering jailor.

That same jailor turned his gaze towards the fire, lighting on her. She fumbled, stumping from her stool. Her unease increased under his scrutiny, growing stronger when he tossed the rope at the woman and strode through camp. She curled her fingers in the grass, only becoming aware of it when her vision was blocked.

She tipped her head, blinking at the man's blonde hair and broad shoulders. He stood shorter than the dark haired man by a couple of inches, but it made no difference. What he lacked in height he made up for in vehemence.

They exchanged heated words back and forth. Every time the one soaked in blood tried to advance he was shoved back. On the third push he drew a blade, and her heart leapt into her throat.

Metal rang, meeting n midair. Every conversation ceased; even the captives stood frozen at the display, watching as the two men glared at each other.

Tension percolated, rising until it circled back to her.

"Niklaus, Heimir, gnógr!" A man lifted his voice to a booming shout. "Þekja sinn vápn eõa Þýõa!"

She watched them shoot one last glare at each other before sheathing their swords. With the threat of metal gone she gripped the stool she had fallen from tightly and got to her feet, balancing on her right leg.

She didn't need words to understand the dispute regarded her, or that the older man with greying blonde hair held the deciding vote. Her fate rested in his hands.

She would not have it delivered while cowering on the ground.

There was no disputing her status as a prisoner. She understood war and conquest; her father had fought for their liege lord in his youth and told stories of battles, men carted off for hard labour and women stolen for their bodies. Her mother always begged him to stop talking then.

Her stomach shook, as unsteady as her left ankle. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin in time for the older man to meet her eyes; she held his stare with one of her own.

"Faðir, gleðja."

He gripped her chin. Had she possessed two working feet she would have jerked away, but as it was the action would have caused her to fall flat and that was not an option.

"Mikael, hon vera ek elska."

Mikael's eyes flickered over her face; his fingers threatened to leave bruises on her mottled skin.

"Faðir."

"Einn finna sinn," Mikael's hard blue eyes cut to the taller man. "Ek mogr vesa hon." He hummed in thought, then gave her a shove.

She stumbled into a broad chest, stabilizing her weight with the help of his arms on her waist. Lifting her gaze she felt sharp stubble scratch her cheek and met those mesmerizing blue-green eyes.

"Hon vera sinn frilla."

* * *

The next few hours trickled past slowly. Like the rest of her people she spent the time watching the proceedings, but unlike them she was not on her knees.

The men presented to Mikael all of the stolen treasures of her village. It wasn't much: a handful of coins and the finer goblets from her own home.

The real prizes appeared to be them.

Everything else divided equally among them, but dividing three prisoners amongst two dozen men; the rest had either been pre-decided or were not worth fighting over.

There was little to distinguish one person from the other apart from the occasional shift in address. Most of the brutes referred to Mikael by name or 'Jarl', or 'Jarl Mikael', but a handful called him 'faðir' as the man seated beside her had done.

Each of the handful bore a striking resemblance to Mikael, and after so long sitting with nothing to do but watch she realized that the man who possessed her looked much like those who resembled Mikael as well. The likeness grew more prominent when one of them joined the pair of them.

He held Cassandra by the elbow, steering her to sit in on a stool. He was joined by the sole free woman in their party.

The shouting continued as different men stepped forward, trying to claim either Leticia or Viviane.

The woman's lip curled as she spun on tense legs, ready to stomp back into the fray.

Her blonde hair gleamed in the firelight as she turned her head back and forth, watching the swift exchange of words for anything she could understand.

"Elskling," her companion grasped her elbow. "Þar vera einn smiða."

"Hann vera sannr, Elena." He smirked at the younger man as he sat down, pulling the woman onto his knee. He said something further making his dark eyes roll as he wrapped his arms securely around her waist until his hand spanned her leather clad abdomen.

"Einn kona vili halda ek barn," he kissed the woman's cheek and nipped at her bottom lip.

"Eta," he grinned. "Ef vatn kona vera einn kunna vesa Þveit sinn vili sinn fagr barn."

The woman said something and combined the words with a sunny smile and a decisive nod. Her cheer dissipated quickly in favour of a frown directed towards the chaos.

She turned her attention to the men tossing what sounded like jibes back and forth. Their interactions and similar features made her think they were brothers, and if she had guessed right they were sons of Mikael.

She wasn't sure whether that boded well for her or not.

"Are you alright?" Cassandra whispered, peeking up through her eye lashes.

She could feel the burning cut on her throat and the dull bruise on her chin along with a few more down her arms nobody could see… yet.

Her eyes cut to the man at her side.

She nodded once, turning her face back to Viviane and Leticia, but Viviane was gone to a man with deep red hair.

"What's going to happen to us?" Cassandra hugged herself. Her eyes flickered over the crowd, darting from one sheathed weapon to the next.

The man from her house grinned as Mikael granted his desire and gave him Leticia who he immediately dragged away. He pulled her until they were gone from the firelight.

Phantom hands grasped at her thighs; cold metal brushed her neck. She took a deep breath and twisted her fingers in her skirt, resisting the urge to reach for her throat.

"You already know.".

She assumed, or perhaps she hoped, they would sit there for a while yet while the crowd laughed and broke into song, but her eyes drooped with exhaustion and no amount of determination could conceal her weariness.

A hand appeared in her vision, berry stained and open.

She hesitated for a moment, letting her mind search for resentment she knew she should feel, but if it was buried deep inside and out of reach. Perhaps she would grasp it in the morning and channel every ounce of anger on his head, but for now she was tired and sore, and he offered a hand that she required to stand again.

Warm fingers curled around her hand and further up at her elbow, lifting her before she could even try to place weight on her injured leg.

She limped at his side beyond a fire and paused.

He said something and squeezed her elbow, urging her to look up at him. He repeated himself and gestured to her legs.

Her eyebrows lowered and she tilted her head, understanding dawning only when he let go of her elbow and moved his arm to her shoulders. His other hand gestured to her knees once more.

"No," she shook her head, glancing behind them to the large gathering. She was strong.

She could walk.

She would walk.

Nobody could see the fatigue he had already noted.

She had to walk.

She had to.

With her jaw set she took a step and then another, making it three paces before her ankle wobbled and she pitched forward, stumbling and hopping to catch herself on her right leg.

He didn't give her the option of refusal again.

The second she straightened up his arm was around her waist, pulling her gently into his side. He steered her, taking her weight with him until he reached a tent.

She watched him lift a flap before she was pulled in to the dark.

He let her go and she stood completely still, listening as he moved around. The only sounds to fill the tent were his quiet movements and her heavy breathing.

"What are you doing?" She followed her ears and took one hopping step forward. Her knee banged wood and she yelped

"Smíða ekki vaða," his voice drifted over her. It was the second time someone had said that to her, but his tone was decidedly softer than his clansman.

Steel scraped over what sounded like a flint stick and she spotted sparks from the corner of her eye. He struck it again and a candle flared to life, filling the space with the rising smell of tallow and a flickering light.

The wood she had hit belonged to a small table. Aside from that there were a couple of stools, a chest and a pile of furs that looked unbelievably inviting.

He motioned to the pile.

Would she find her resentment before morning?

She sank down, squeezing her eyes shut against the sharp scream that broke through the singing.

Leticia?

Viviane?

Cassandra?

Would that be her?

She shifted her weight onto her hip and hands, but it was several minutes of rummaging before he came to her, so long that she opened her eyes to see what he was doing.

The table was moved closer to the furs and set with a basin of water, the tallow candle and several rags.

He perched on the stool and reached for her leg.

He spoke quietly, hand hovering over her toes.

She pressed her lips together, chewing on the bottom one. Her stomach trembled in a combination of nerves and hunger.

Drawing in a slow breath through her nose she gripped her skirt and pulled until her left leg came into view.

He lifted her leg, propping the heel on his knee. He untied the leather strings and dropped the shoe on the ground. He trailed his palm over the side of her calve, dragging her blue skirt higher until he reached her knee.

The ribbon holding her hose in place came loose.

His fingers rolled the cloth down and off before carefully prodding the skin.

Her ankle throbbed.

She tore her eyes from his face to risk a look, steeling her nerves for discolouration. She felt suddenly grateful for the lack of food in her stomach. She was prepared for horror beyond her worst nightmare, but was met with small swell.

He rolled her ankle slowly in a circle.

She hissed, wincing at the pain shooting up her leg.

He dipped a rag into the basin, wringing out the worst of the water before wrapping the cold cloth around her ankle.

The tension slowly melted away as the cool seeped into her body. Between the gentle ministrations and the continual swapping of compresses she felt herself starting to drift off.

She might have fallen asleep, but then he wrapped something tight around her ankle and tied it in place. The sudden change brought a grunt from her lips.

"Ek epli," he murmured, rubbing her ankle gently. "Epli."

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she nodded, understanding his meaning from the apology in his gaze.

He slid off the stool to kneel at her side and used his hands to ease her down on the furs, lowering her head to a pillow. He folded a thick fur, propping her wrapped ankle on it before covering her with another.

Her eyelids drooped as she watched him move, stooping over the candle and cupping one hand behind the flame.

"Wait," her fingers darted out, curling around his sleeve.

He paused, turning to watch her push up on one elbow.

Her mouth opened and closed, unsure how to communicate before reaching a decision.

She swallowed and touched her fingertips over her fluttering heart, sucking in a slow breath.

"Caroline."

"Caroline?" He pronounced her name slowly, tasting the syllables on his tongue.

She nodded and he mirrored her motion, touching his palm to his chest.

"Klaus."

"Klaus?" She murmured. She tilted her head, throwing her mind back to Mikael. "Niklaus?"

He nodded, holding her tired gaze as she processed.

Her hand slipped under the fur, taking the folded cloth from her belt to look at in the flickering light from the candle. She hated the mess in her hair, but denying the talent that created the image was impossible; he had made her beautiful.

"Thank you," she looked up through her lashes, nodding to the image and then her covered foot.

He nodded his head and turned back, blowing out the candle.

She sank into the bedding, pulling the fur around her chin, and still shivering. A small amount of light she hadn't noticed before hit the tent wall, illuminating just enough that she could make out his shadow.

He moved, pulling his boots off. His belt was removed and dropped somewhere out of sight; a heavy thump announced his sword had hit the ground.

She clutched the edge of the fur as he stretched out on his back and held her breath, but he made no move to pull her closer. The only acknowledgement he gave to her presence was a quiet whisper.

"Góðr draumr, Caroline."

* * *

He stared at the ceiling for a long time. At first he waited for her to fall asleep, not daring to leave her alone in case Heimir decided to ignore his father's shocking ruling; he would have been well within his rights to take the man's life for a crime against her body, but he would rather not subject her to a display of brutality.

He remained awake long after she drifted off, listening to the ebb and flow of voices. The distant sobs of the woman unlucky to land in Heimir's possession slowly tapered off.

He knew Kol would be holding his wife back for most of the night, and was probably thinking of any way to be rid of his father's man.

If only Elena were the one to scream out in the night his brother could have run the man through, assuming his wife didn't beat him to the task. He knew she would have loved to.

Eventually the noise died, giving rise to the chirp of crickets and her soft exhalations.

She shifted in her sleep, seeking his body heat in the dark. Her head pressed to his shoulder and he looked down, tracing the curve of her cheek with his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Charred meat mingled with pine needles, tainting the fresh morning air. He ignored the pang of hunger and strode on silent feet through the uneven rows of tents; the snoring inhabitants remained oblivious to his mission, yet he was incapable to keep from pausing near the centre of camp.

Preoccupied with her and his father’s unprecedented display of kindness, he hadn’t noticed just how many his kin had carried back from Caroline’s village. Dozens of older women huddled together behind the guard detail. A few men of varying ages watched their surroundings warily. A handful of children had somehow managed to fall asleep.

If should they proved strong and healthy the young would be fostered in his village, but most of the people were bound for slave routes; if not for their age and relative health Caroline and the other young women would have joined them.

He nodded to Sigurd and Raven when they called his name, but moved on before they could engage him in conversation. He was in no mood to lie about his evening, and refused to tell them the truth; the news that he had failed to bed her would travel faster than a wildfire and his father might revoke his judgement.

Her defiance wouldn’t last long with another; they would stomp it out, or take her life.

He passed another dozen tents and moved a ways into the forest until he found the one he sought.

As expected his brother was already awake.

“Good morning.”

“Brother,” Kol nodded, tilting his goblet in greeting as he sat on the opposite stool. “You’re up early.”

“I’m always up early,” he chuckled.

“And you always knew better than to come around here and disturb the quiet,” he smirked.

“I find it difficult to believe you’re capable of quiet,” he tapped out a rhythm on the table. “You were always first to rise. I can’t remember how often I woke roused by your shouting.”

“If I do that now I am liable to find a knife at my throat.” Kol smiled around the rim of his glass before taking a long drink.

“You sound almost giddy at the prospect?” Klaus cocked an eyebrow.

He stared into his goblet, pursing his lips as he thought over the words to accurately portray his thoughts.

“I do enjoy her fire.” Kol tilted his head. “She gets this look in her eyes when she’s annoyed. If father saw her in that moment he would never dream to accuse her of weakness.”

“Spectacular,” he slapped his hand on the table, grinning. “I need you to wake her up.”

“Excuse me,” his eyes widened. “Have you lost all control of your senses, brother?”

“If I had, then I would have marched into your tent and woken her myself,” Klaus nodded his head to the covered opening.

“So you’ll sacrifice my life instead?” The corner of Kol’s mouth lifted.

“You just admitted to liking it.” He crossed his arms, smirking at his brother’s flush. The smile slipped off his face after a moment, replaced with a more serious expression. “I wouldn’t ask, but I need her help.”

“Why?”

“Caroline…”

“Is that the woman father shockingly let you claim?” He lowered his goblet to the table.

“It is,” he nodded, “she’s hurt.”

“You realize, Nik, that I am the healer this camp?” A cool breeze blew his hair in his face. He pushed it back.

“Caroline was reluctant to allow my touch,” he hummed, running his tongue over his teeth. “She doesn’t understand our language, and if you tried to help her she would likely kick you. I thought she’d respond better to a woman.”

“There’s nothing Elena can do for her ankle.” He shook his head. “If she won’t let me help then it will have to heal on it’s own.”

“It’s not her ankle that worries me. She ran from the village and fell, rolling down a hill.” He turned his head back the way he had come. From his spot he could just make out the shadow cast by his tent. He wouldn’t have left her at all if not for Elijah’s tent nearby and his brother’s notoriety for being a light sleeper; if he heard screams from the tent he would investigate especially after a night of silence. “I suspect she’s covered in bruises, and perhaps some cuts.”

Kol’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. Cuts if left untended were dangerous; they would bury her long before they could reach home.

He nodded once. “Wait here, and know that if I perish I will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Kol sighed, getting to his feet. He left his brother at the table and lifted the tent flap, stepping into semi darkness. He wasn’t worried; she loved him too much to actually contemplate killing him.

The girl slept a few feet inside in front of a chest and he paused to lift the fur around her shoulders before moving further and kneeling on the ground next his bed.

His fingers slipped under her pillow, carefully extracting the knife and placing it behind him.

With imminent danger neutralized he leaned down, swept her hair from her cheek and pressed his lips to her ear.

“Wake up, darling.”

She groaned, turning her face into the pillow.

“Darling,” he hummed, dragging his nose over her throat. His fingers dug into the soft fur and pulled the covering away inch by inch, as his lips pressed kisses to her exposed skin.

He was halfway down her back when she hummed and at her hip when she rolled over, digging her fingers into his hair; one hand slipped to the nape of his neck and grasped at his collar.

“Off,” she grunted.

He kissed her stomach, and looked up through his lashes; her eyes remained firmly closed. He moved up, placing chaste kisses between her breasts and up her chin.

“Kol,” she sighed.

She spread her thighs and it took every ounce of self-control to refrain from tearing the blanket away and taking his place.

“Not yet, my love,” his warm breath fanned over her cheek.

She opened bleary eyes to glare at him, but any threat was dulled by her sleep laced voice and pronounced pout. “Do you think it wise to tease me in the morning, husband?”

“Of course not,” he grinned, mischief flickering in his eyes. “I thought it the safest way to wake you.”

“You think leaving me unsatisfied is good for your health?” The left side of her mouth twitched.

“Better than rudely awakening you,” he traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “Did I not satisfy you last night, wife?” Kol’s eyes flitted to the chest, hiding the girl from view. “If not for your insistence on her slumber I’d have satisfied you all night until every man in this camp knew you had been satiated.”

“I didn’t want to scare her,” Elena wrapped her arms around his neck. “If this village is anything like Bonnie’s she would have been scandalized.”

“Best to ease her into things,” he agreed.

“Is she not asleep now?”

“Still sleeping, darling,” he glanced towards her. He could see the auburn hair, but little else.

“Then why ‘not yet’?” She frowned, scratching her nails through his hair.

“Nik is outside, and he requires your assistance.”

“Mmm,” she groaned, closing her eyes, “but I require _your_ assistance.”

“I shall assist you later,” Kol chuckled, holding her elbows to pull her up. Once she was seated he reached for her discarded tunic and trousers.

“Promise?” She yawned, accepting the fabric.

“You have my word.”

* * *

She came awake slowly, lashed fluttering until she managed to pry her tired eyes open. For a moment, stuck in that foggy place between sleeping and waking, she thought it had all been a dream; she would hear her mother chastising her for sleeping so late when there were chores to be done, but then the tent wall came into focus.

She used her hands to sit up, grunting in discomfort as she did. Furs of varying colours made up her bed.

Her torso ached with every beat of her heart, constricting as she breathed faster.

She rolled her stiff shoulders with some difficulty she managed to wrap one of the furs around her body.

Low voices drifted in near the greatest source of light. Her ears picked out a woman and a man.

_Klaus,_ she remembered. Her head perked up fast and she felt skin pull on her throat. A trickle of hot blood rolled over her collarbone.

All she could see were faint silhouettes. He spoke quietly with the woman for a moment. Then the tent opened and she stepped inside.

“Caroline?” She held out her hand, palm forward until she was met with a single nod. Her palm then pressed to her own chest. “Elena.”

She gripped the fur tighter, as her stomach churned; Klaus had said the word last night at some point. It had to be a name.

Elena crossed the tent and dropped to her knees to perch at Caroline’s side, leaving a foot of space between them.

“Klaus kveõa einn fjall,” she waved one hand towards the entrance; there was a gentleness in her voice.

Caroline’s eyes fell to the pot in her lap.

“Ek reiõa læknari.” Elena took the lid off and dipped a finger inside for a glob of translucent green. She reached for Caroline.

Caroline jerked back, frowning at the gel. Where she gripped the fur her fingers tingled.

Elena sighed, tilting her head and closing her eyes; thoughts furrowed her brow.

Carolines’s frown deepened as she murmured words under her breath.

“Caroline,” she chewed her lip, thinking over her words. The hand not covered in gel rolled in a downward motion towards the jar. “Fall down?”

“You speak my language?” She leaned a little closer, hope bubbling in her twisting stomach. “What’s happening? Why am I here? Why did you help me?” Her questions poured out, each more desperate than the last, and each met with a stunned silence; she realized belatedly that it was most she had said since running.

“Nei,” Elena shook her head, braids sliding over her shoulders. “Nei, ek epli. Nei.”

Her shoulders slumped. She regarded the green goop warily when it was presented once more.

Elena sighed. Wiping her finger on the lip of the jar, careful to get every drop inside before she sat it aside and reached for her belt.

Metal gleamed and Caroline scrambled back.

“Nei,” Elena held out her hand. “Nei.”

Caroline watched as she rolled up her sleeve, bunching the indigo fabric around her elbow. The knife in her hand spun around until it was poised over flawless olive skin.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes widened.

Elena pushed down until a bead of blood bubbled up, rolling over her arm and down her hand. She replaced the blade and dipped her right index finger into the pot again.

The green was dabbed onto her skin until it appeared clear.

Caroline watched in fascination as the wound closed; the only sign it had ever existed was the line of blood Elena quickly wiped away with a rag.

“Læknari,” she pointed to the pot.

“Medicine?” Caroline licked her bottom lip, wincing when her tongue probed a split she hadn’t realized was there.

This time when Elena reached out she didn’t move, staying stock still as the gel was applied to her throat, chin and lip. Heat flared under the sticky substance and then cooled; her fingers probed, seeking the cut and bruise, but found nothing.

“Margr?” Elena’s left eyebrow rose. She gestured with her hand to Caroline, encompassing her entire body in the motion.

Caroline glanced at the jar. The medicine could only be magic, and witches – as well as those who dealt with them – were destined for the pyre, but she hurt, and Elena had been kind to her so far. Besides, who would cast the accusation?

Her people had to know.

Silently she dropped the fur from her shoulders and lifted stiff arms. Her shoulders burned as she struggled for the laces that were just out of reach.

She looked up when Elena spoke words she had heard once before and watched her closely for a moment. The way she moved her fingers perfectly explained her meaning, but she hesitated to turn her back on a woman so clearly part of an enemy force.

Elena must have sensed her unease because she pulled the knife free again and presented it hilt out, nodding when Caroline slowly curled her fingers around the handle.

Slowly she shifted, turning around. At first she watched over her shoulder as Elena untied her dress and eased it down, but when the fabric was around her waist she had to look down. She freed her arms and pulled her hair forward to cover her breasts.

Elena spoke softly from time to time, but Caroline understood none of it. For a while she focused on the brief flashes of heat, but when she lost count she decided she didn’t want to know how many cuts and bruises covered her back and sides. Instead she focused on the knife while Elena healed her.

Her nail traced the grooves on the handle, picking out a carved bird resembling a raven, while her eyes focused on the symbols decorating the dagger. She was fingering them when Elena stopped and moved into her line of sight.

“Margr?” She lowered her hand, angling her fingers to Caroline’s torso.

She breathed in, filling her lungs. Her right hand pressed to her belly and explored, searching for any sore spots.

Finding none, she shook her head; tucking her arms and legs in had succeeded in protecting her front.

Caroline sat the knife by her thigh and slipped her arms back into her sleeves, reaching behind her back to pull the laces tight. Then she tossed the fur from her legs and pulled her skirt up.

“My ankle?” She pointed.

“Nei,” Elena shook her head. She said something else and made a slicing motion over her arm.

Caroline blinked. Slowly she pulled her skirt higher until cool air swirled around her knee and pointed to a bruise she had spotted when Klaus removed her hose.

Elena nodded. She reached for the pot, but hesitated, considering for a beat before tilting the opening to Caroline.

* * *

Klaus leaned against a tree a few paces from his tent, straightening up when Elena emerged.

“Well?”

“You suspected right,” she replaced her dagger.

“Is she alright?” He started towards his tent.

“Physically,” she nodded. Her hands passed the covered jar back and forth between open palms. Her eyes flickered to the left where men had started breaking down camp.

“Elena?”

She twisted to the right, offering a smile for her brother-in-law. “Elijah, good morning.”

“Good morning,” he nodded. He gestured between her and Klaus. “What are you doing over here so early? I was certain when father declared it time to leave that Kol would be waking you and regretting that dagger he gave you.”

“He woke me at an unreasonable hour,” she fingered the carved hilt at her waist, “and had the foresight to move it out of my reach.” She tilted her head to the jar in her hand. “I came with medicine.”

“I see,” he frowned.

“And now I’m going to return to my husband before he makes a mess of packing,” she grinned and slipped between the brothers.

He watched her go for a moment and turned, lowering his voice.

“Could you not have administered Kol’s spell yourself, brother?”

“I would have run the risk of injuring her further,” he shook his head. “Elena agreed to help.”

Elijah scrutinized his younger brother, searching his features. “You didn’t touch her.”

He gritted his teeth, resisting the smart remark. He had indeed touched her, but that wasn’t what Elijah meant, and lying to his older brother was impossible; he had been close enough to hear – the only one close enough.

“If father asks…”

“She whimpered into the early hours of the morning,” he gripped the hilt of his sword, feeling the carvings dig into his palm.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Elena skidded to a stop when she approached the tent and saw the girl huddled on a stool. Kol sat on the other side, twirling a silver dagger between his fingers.

“You’re not packing?” She crossed her arms.

“I’ve already finished,” he pointed over his shoulder. They kept a clean environment when raiding so the only big job was dismantling the tent. “There was not much to be done inside.”

Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes.

“Besides, I had to pack before you made a mess of everything.”

“Are you accusing me of disorganization?” Her brow quirked.

“I would never,” he pressed his hand to his heart, “I’m just saying: the last time you packed our things I spent an entire morning searching for juniper.”

“It was packed by the caraway.”

“That’s another issue entirely,” he chuckled. “How is she?”

“Healed for the most part,” the pot made a hollow thud as it was placed on the table. “Her ankle will slow her down, but the swelling doesn’t look too bad. She’s…” she chewed her bottom lip, “… strong-willed. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to walk on it to prove she can.”

“She can’t,” he laid the dagger beside the pot and stood. “Do you think she’d let me heal it?”

“I doubt it,” Elena gathered her hair over one shoulder, securing the intricate braids and loose locks with a length of leather.

“Perhaps I’ll try anyway,” he wrapped a thin braid around his finger, rubbing the woven strands with his thumb. “If father perceives weakness he could change his mind and place her with the slaves.” Her brows knit together. “What?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged one shoulder, “just a little surprised.”

“Nik is already fond of her, and I know you are too,” he bent until his lips brushed her ear. “You think I don’t know she was the one you intervened for? If you’re not careful, my darling, you’ll gain unwanted attention.”

“Heimir is a brute,” she laid her hand on his stomach. Her fingers traced the defined muscles under his tunic.

“I know,” his murmured words didn’t travel beyond her ear.

Elena’s gaze flickered to the girl, finding wide grey eyes staring at them and darting away upon the realization that she had been caught.

“How is she?” Her hand pushed Kol a few inches back as she inclined her head.

“She won’t eat,” he shook his head, “and every once in a while I’ll catch her looking at me like she expects an attack.”

“She heard her friend screaming into the night,” her jaw clenched.

“I didn’t say I didn’t know why,” his eyes flickered over her head, mouth hardening.

“I’ll have to commit to their language when we return home.” Elena closed her eyes, envisioning the crackling hearth in her mind and longing for their bed.

She felt him shake with silent laughter and peeked up through her lashes. “Is something funny?”

“I was just thinking of why my father allowed so many women to be claimed,” he let go of her hair and lowered his hand to the crook of her elbow. “He may soon see me as weak.”

“Because they are young, and well within childbearing years,” she tilted her head. “The fever this winter claimed many, but why would that affect you.”

“A wife,” his fingers curled, pressing gently into her skin, “two concubines and no children.”

“Is that what worries you, husband?” She teased. Her dark eyes sparkled as she stood on tiptoe to reach his ear and breathed. “Soon enough that won’t be an issue.”

She rocked back on her heels, biting her lip to temper her smile while she waited for her words to sink in and be understood.

His hand twitched, reaching for her waist. The question stuck on his tongue, but the answer shone in her eyes. His lips stretched in a broad smile as her features became more animated; they shared the quiet moment obvious to all else.

His hand spanned her stomach, thumb rubbing her naval in soft circles.

A warm glow flowed through her, fading somewhat when his mouth clenched.

“Did you know yesterday?” He gritted his teeth.

She met his accusing eyes without flinching, and nodded once.

“Dammit Elena!” He gripped her elbows, holding her tightly as he moved her back.

“I’m fully capable of protecting myself,” her chin lifted. She tossed her hair over her shoulders. “You know that.”

“That is not the point,” his expression darkened. “Anything could have happened.”

“I remained at the back,” she lowered her voice, “away from any fighting.”

“Except when you went to Caroline’s aid,” he accused.

Her shoulders slumped, but she carried on. “Heimir is a beast, but with Elijah, Klaus and you looking for any reason to kill him he knows better than to lay a finger on me.”

She backed out of his hold and stomped toward the tent, feeling him follow. She disappeared around the back and started dismantling the structure.

“Elena,” he sighed, “darling, please look at me.”

She blinked at the strings she had managed to tangle, struggling to focus on the fine work through the fog of tears in her eyes.

“Elena,” he wrapped his arms around her waist, dipping his head and propping his chin on her shoulder. “Darling.”

“I…” she took a deep breath, turning her face away from him. When she spoke again it was slowly and around the occasional gasp. “I didn’t realize until… until the outskirts of the village.” Her fingers tugged at the strings futilely. “Should I have turned back and had your father label me as weak?”

“After yesterday he wouldn’t dare,” his hands flattened over her belly. “No more fighting, my love.”

“And what explanation will we give? It’s early yet.”

“Should there be another raid, volunteer for guard duties,” he kissed her cheek.

“I’ve never willingly taken such a job,” she shook her head.

“Then I shall tell my father the truth,” he sighed, “that he is soon to welcome his second grandchild.”

She shook her head, finally turning to meet his eyes.

“What if something goes wrong?”

He brought one hand up to cradle her cheek. “It’s possible, but isn’t it more likely you’d be hurt in battle. Besides,” he rubbed her abdomen, “our baby is strong.”

“How could you possibly know that?” She fought down her smile.

“Because this child will be the greatest parts of you and me,” he nudged her nose with his. “How could it be anything else?”

She melted into his embrace with a sigh, twisting to curl her arm around his neck. “Very well. Tell him.”

* * *

Cassandra’s heart thundered in her chest, harder and faster with each harsh word that passed between the pair.

Their language differed greatly from hers, so she had to rely on their actions to gain any semblance of understanding. She watched and hugged her knees tight as he stood and toyed with the woman’s hair.

Her stomach had clenched when he grabbed her arm and waist, pulling her impossibly close until all Cassandra could see was the possessive grip he kept. He had held her wrists in such a grip during the night. She had seen; a whimper had woken her from an uneasy slumber, and she had stolen a peak at the furs where he held her arms above her head and moved in an unmistakable rhythm.

She watched, holding her breath, as his expression cycled through emotions and finally darkened while her jaw tightened and her eyes flashed; her hand had pushed him back.

When she escaped his hold and hurried away he followed and Cassandra was left on the low seat. Their voices had drifted back and she heard the unquestionable sound of tears in the woman’s tone.

Her grey eyes turned to the table, assessing the contents. Bread and dried meat sat untouched next to a full goblet; he had placed both before her with a sharp word.

They were brutal beasts – every last one of them. She wouldn’t go along quietly, she couldn’t. Refusing food and water had seemed her best option, so when he eventually turned his full attention on her it wouldn’t be long before she dehydrated and dropped.

That had seemed her best option, but it still left the possibility of suffering Letitia’s fate.

Caroline had been correct.

She knew exactly what would happen to them. She had heard it happening to one, and further into the encampment she might have heard other screams as well.

That would never be her.

She would not be on the receiving end of the man’s passions.

She glanced over her shoulder and slowly reached beyond the food and around the jar to curl her fingers around cool silver.

++++

Caroline had tried, she really had, but resistance was futile.

How could she be expected to sit back and watch him make a complete mess of everything?

“Stop,” she smacked his hand.

His eyes widened, displaying his shock.

“Has nobody taught you how to pack a damn chest?” She pried the bowl from his hand. The crushed berries were gone, leaving behind stains that would never lift. She pointed to a shallow dent on the side and dug her finger into the groove. “Obviously not.”

“How many of these do you go through?” She grumbled under her breath as she shifted onto her knees. “Taking the time to properly pack them would keep them in one piece.”

Caroline snatched a blanket from the remaining furs, swiftly rolling it up inside. She took a second and a third, continuing to twist and fold until each of the bowls was neatly hidden in the folds of cloth.

“Caroline,” he cleared his throat, but the strain remained evident in his tone.

“You have to wrap them,” she picked up the small bundle, placing it with care in the wooden box, “and that way they’re safe. Pass me another fur,” she pointed over her shoulder. She could have gotten them herself, but that would have required twisting around to stretch and more likely than not upsetting the relative peace of her ankle.

She looked through the corner of her eye and found him watching her with a raised eyebrow, and unmistakable amusement in his eyes. She had a vivid flash of her father’s face when he came across her stacking their plates by size and again when she had painstakingly sorted through seeds for planting.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she crossed her arms, and felt her cheeks heat up. A deep chuckle sounded from his throat, and she surged forward on her knees without a second thought.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

Her hand covered his mouth and a shock rushed up her arm.

Her flush deepened when she realized what she had done, but she couldn’t take the action back because she was frozen in place.

He cocked an eyebrow, pressed his lips into a thin line and raised his hand to gently curl his fingers around her wrist. His thumb pressed into her palm as he lowered her hand.

She swallowed, slowly exhaling.

She held his gaze for a long moment before he turned his head and let go of her. Her eyes dropped to the chest – half-way full with the contents of the tent – snapping back to her hands when soft fur brushed her fingers.

He uttered a single word, nodding when she took the material.

“We need to roll them.” She licked her bottom lip, shifting the fur in her hands.

She focused on her task. First, folding the fur into a narrow rectangle. Then, rolling it into a tight cylinder and pushed it down on one side of the bundle, lining the edge.

“One on each side,” she pointed, dragging her finger around the bundle. Rolling them up tight would leave extra space at the top that she suspected was normally filled with material.

* * *

The encampment had erupted in a flurry of movement while they were inside packing the trunk, and it only increased as he went about dismantling the tent.

Certain that he would make another mess she had tried to help him – others might have seen it as a takeover, but it was much needed assistance that he refused. Inside of the tent he had done as she said – or shown – but outside he banished her to a low stool, and refused to let her stand back up.

She had tried once only to be swiftly returned to her seat with a gentle push on her shoulders, so she was left with nothing to do but watch.

Men moved about in leather armour, strapping bags and weapons to horses. It appeared that a select few held wooden chests, and that most stored their belongings in wrapped furs and sewn bags. Farther to her left she heard more men throwing harsh words and saw them placing shackles on the wrists of people she had known her whole life, further securing them with a length of rope.

Turstin shifted from one foot to another as the men made their way down the line. His eyes darted left and right nervously, and when he caught her watching she knew what he planned to do.

She could see the gleam of weapons and the curve of a bow on more than one shoulder, and she shook her head once in warning. His shoulders slumped and she breathed early, thinking he had received the message.

The man in charge of tying turned so she could see his face and tightened the ropes on little Mirielda Barnes. The four year old turned her large blue eyes on him and reached up to tap the thin black lines on his cheek; the man’s unexpected laugh and bright smile captured Caroline’s attention.

She was so focused on his response to the child that she didn’t notice Turstin run until the second guard gave a shout.

If she had expected chaos she was to be sorely disappointed. Turstin made it halfway to the trees before an arrow lodged in his shoulder.

She slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp.

Klaus still heard her.

His hand cupped her cheek, turning her to look up at him, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a loud scream.

Caroline whipped her head around, searching for the sound and starting to stand.

Klaus pushed her back down, saying something she didn’t understand but suspected meant stay put, if his gesture was anything to go by, before he hurried in the direction of the scream.

She had always hated being told what to do.

Surprisingly few of the men reacted to the disturbance. The only other one to chase after Klaus had been the one preparing a horse nearby; she vaguely remembered him as one calling Mikael ‘faðir’.

She hated being told what to do, so she stumbled to her feet. The second she tried putting weight on her left leg, her knee buckled; she looked around for anything that would help her and settled on a length of wood that had served as the tent wall, bending swiftly to pick it up.

With the crude walking stick in hand she half-hopped half-walked in the direction he had run off. By the time she caught up she was gasping for breath.

“Caroline?” Klaus spotted her first and leapt to his feet, hurrying to block her view of the scene. He took hold of her shoulders, attempting to turn her around. “Koma á, elska.”

She pulled away from his hands, using a nearby tree for balance, and looked around him. Her eyes found Elena first – her open mouth and pale pallor suggested the shriek had come from her. Next she found the man Elena had been with by the fire, bent low over something. When he sat up and shook his head she saw the source of the commotion.

“Cassandra,” she whispered.

Unseeing eyes stared up through a canopy of leaves. The lips – coated in red – drew no breath. Delicate fingers clung to the hilt of a silver dagger, buried by her own hand in the centre of a crimson circle.

“Cassandra!”


	3. Chapter 3

The chestnut mare snorted, tossing her mane back. Thick strands of hair whipped Caroline's fingers. They moved at a sedentary walk to accommodate those individuals still on foot. She suspected a canter would have been preferred by the riders.

She had never ridden a horse before and as such enjoyed the slow pace. There had been no need in the village since women only rode for travel purposes and nobody ever left. Her grandparents had been born in that village and they had died in that village never having traveled more than a day's walk from the border marked by Aland's fences.

The only horses she had ever seen were used for plowing the fields, and they were all docile, each and every one; nothing like the stallions and mares these people rode.

She thought she might like it a lot more if she were riding alone, but that option remained firmly off the table. There were only three women riding at all, and of them Elena was the only one to have her own mount.

She rode with Klaus. His strong arms reached around either side of her body to rest on the saddle pommel and hold the bridle in place; the action – or inaction – had the dual purpose of securing her to his chest and controlling the animal.

She shifted uncomfortably, growing sore as they moved.

"How are you so at ease?" She twisted her neck around, catching his eyes. There were moments, accentuated by sudden changes in motion, where she felt the only thing keeping her seated was him.

Her fingers gripped the side of the saddle, brushing against the mare's soft coat.

"Hafa einn nei rīða a hestr, ást?" He tilted his head.

"Hestr?" Caroline's brows knit together. She swatted at a fly, disrupting its buzzing path in front of her nose.

He shifted the reins to one hand and caught her wrist in midair. She had no choice but to bend with him as he placed her palm on the animal's gleaming neck.

"Hestr," he smiled.

"Nei?" He shook his head.

She glimpsed dimples from the corner of her eye and swallowed, acutely aware of his sun warmed skin.

'Nei', Caroline bit her bottom lip as she stroked the horse's coat. She had worked out what 'nei' meant quickly, and she tested the word on her tongue while shaking her head.

"Nei," she straightened her spine, "no."

"Einn vera sorg," he chuckled; the sound carried through her body. "Taka," he opened his left hand, lifting the loose reins a few inches.

She hesitantly curled her fingers around the thin leather. She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring she was doing what he wanted. His answering nod should have calmed her, but her heart pounded as she realized that she was now in charge of the horse and their direction.

Had she misinterpreted 'nei'?

She swallowed, eyeing the reins as she would a snake and flexing her fingers.

He had held them loosely, right? They had just sat in his hand?

Hadn't they?

"Einn hafa vaða til the hestr." His hands retracted, settling on her hips and urging her to move with the gentle sway. "Vaða."

Heat flared beneath his palms, spreading up her sides. The warmth carried a flush that made her grateful he couldn't see the light pink tinting her cheeks. That colour deepened to crimson a moment later when his hands slid over the curve of her hip to her thighs.

"Herða einn Þjó," his fingers tightened, calluses caught on the material and rubbed her soft skin.

Her muscles twitched, clenching tight. If the smile she felt against her cheek was any indication then the action pleased him.

He left one hand on her thigh, reflexively squeezing and releasing, and brought the other back to her hip, urging her to move.

Caroline gritted her teeth, intent on following both directives. The tasks seemed easy enough, but each time she fell into a rhythm with one she forgot the other.

She groaned, dropping her head and hitting his shoulder.

"Einn ætla," he tapped her temple, "ok mikill."

Viviane had done that once when she acted as Caroline's tutor, teaching her the basics of knitting. The single attempt had been a complete mess, full of holes and far too tight.

"I'm not overthinking it," she huffed, pressing her lips together. Her fingers twitched involuntarily, tugging on the reins.

He chuckled; the sound field her irritation.

"I'm not!"

She straightened her spine, putting as much distance between her body and his as she could. She remained undeterred by the impossibility of such a task. When she set a goal she achieved it; even if it seemed that the only way she could was to move her hips back and her body forward.

The less than ideal position made her back ache, and pressed her lower body against his groin, but at least she couldn't feel the tingle caused by his rumbling laugh against her shoulders.

She eventually rolled her hips with the horse, subconsciously matching her muscle movement to his. The minimal shifting resulted in reasonable comfort.

Except for that damn ache in her lower back.

"Caroline," he leaned forward, whispering against her ear. His hand flattened over her belly, pressing into the soft flesh to pull her backwards into his chest.

Could he feel the way her muscles quivered under his touch?

"Caroline," he repeated.

She pressed her lips together and forced her expression to harden as she turned her head to look at him.

Amusement sparkled in his eyes, but he was doing his level best to hold a serious expression. He managed it for long enough that Caroline felt her resolve weakening and she had to turn away to hide the smile threatening to lift the corner of her mouth.

"Caroline," he caught her chin with a finger, twisting her head back around to look at him.

She bit her cheek, hard, but the foolish corner fought to rise.

"Ek epli, Caroline." He combined the apology with a slight pout that proved her undoing.

She giggled, ducking to hide her head and his answering laugh traveled through her back.

She took a deep breath, releasing the reins into his hand. The rush of air brought the smell of horses and him to her nose. It hadn't been a thought when Heimir broke into her house, or for any time after but somewhere in the far corners of her mind she had assumed these men, these fiends, who had invaded her home would smell, but he didn't.

A clean scent clung to him, tinted with the faintest hint of horse. The thought that such brutal people cared about hygiene was shocking, but it didn't change the fact that he smelled good. Cleaner than any of the men she had ever known, including the monks who would sometimes travel through the village.

There wasn't much to do on horseback outside of one-sided conversation other than watch the world pass her by. She elected to do that rather than dwell on how comfortable she felt in his arms.

Her entire life had been spent in the village. Never had she ventured further than a day's walk from the border. And everything had always been the same.

She had always been safe.

She did the same things.

She thought the same thoughts.

She had been safe.

The monotony often threatened to bore her to tears.

In the span of an hour everything changed. Danger invaded her home and she had been forced to flee, inadvertently running into the arms of the enemy.

She should have feared for her life.

Leticia certainly did.

Caroline could see it in her furtive eyes, and the way she tugged at the braided rope attaching her wrist to Heimir's horse. Her terror split three ways. Caroline didn't know which was strongestL the murky future, falling behind or getting free.

If she tripped, how fast could those behind her halt?

If she got loose, how far could she run before an arrow pierced her heart?

Leticia was afraid.

Viviane's terror remained evident in the rigid set of her spine. Like Caroline, she was one of the few on horseback because of her leg, but she didn't seem as broken as Leticia. Her hands were also bound, holding her in place; she flinched every time the man at her back shifted.

Was it fear, or had she experienced the same treatment as Leticia? She hadn't heard Viviane scream, or cry, but she also hadn't heard Cassandra make a sound, and they all knew how that had ended.

She didn't know what to make of her situation. So far she remained unbound and unmolested.

Caroline turned her head a few inches, catching his eyes for a moment.

She had always thought herself attractive. Several men had approached her father for suit before her marriage was finally arranged, and each of them had looked upon her the way some of the men in her current company stole glances at Elena.

She despised that look, but it sufficed as a measure of desirability. She always knew that if they didn't desire her company they at least lusted for her body.

Some of the men surrounding them cast hungry eyes her way.

If Klaus looked at her like that she had yet to catch him.

She leaned back, relaxing her spine against his chest; his only reaction was to adjust his hold on the reins.

Maybe he didn't find her desirable, but then, why had he asked Mikael for her? Or had he been asking his father not to be saddled with her?

Aside from tending her injuries and showing her how to properly ride the horse, he hadn't touched her.

She fidgeted with her fingers, brushing the folded painting in her belt. She played with the edges of cloth shaking away her previous thought. He had to at least find her attractive. He couldn't have drawn her as he did if he didn't.

She lifted her head to survey the crowd again, and spotted Elena several paces ahead riding alongside Kol. She backed into Klaus and against her will her entire body shivered. She barely felt his arms shift as the images played behind her eyes.

Kol attempted to approach her outside the tent, and for every forward step she had hopped one back until she huddled behind Klaus and dug her nails into his upper arms.

There had been plenty that happened outside that tent, but all she remembered was his bloodstained hands and Cassandra's prone form.

* * *

After countless hours of driving their horses further across the land the sun had begun it's descent. At their current pace it would take days before they reached the water. It would be much longer before they set sail.

Many had thought it odd, but it was a mark of Mikael's personality when no one questioned his decision to deviate from their routine. Normally the ship was no more than a day's journey from the village they plundered, but this summer his father had decided to explore the new country on foot, always following the river that was too narrow for the ship.

His father was many things, and pragmatic made his list of attributes. In addition to raiding the three villages they had passed unseen he would ensure that they were prepared for weeks rather than the short length of the journey.

One storm could knock them off course; any shortage of supplies leading them to an unworthy death.

The journey would be long. He suspected she would find it dull. Half of the time he found it dull, though he did enjoy the way her body shifted with his; the continued motion would eventually become rather uncomfortable - especially if he dwelled on the sensations - but for the time being he liked it.

Unlike him, conversation to pass the time was impossible. She was surrounded by dozens of people and practically alone.

He spent the majority of the ride observing, as he often did, and had noted many things about her. Her steady breaths caught in her chest when she shifted and brushed him. Her heart beat fast when he touched her.

And she possessed an inability to sit still that he hadn't encountered since Kol's childhood.

Normally motion was a requirement when riding, for if one remained still one would be unable to walk the next day. She _had_ begun to move with the horse, but it was her hands that shifted constantly, slim fingers twisting in her belt and curling around the fabric of her dress. The only time she froze was when he placed the reins in her palm.

Attuned to her body as he was meant that he noticed in seconds when she stopped moving. And even the thickest of his father's warriors would have noticed when a woman backed into them and fought back a shudder.

He followed the direction of her head and his eyes landed on his brother riding alongside Elena; any closer and he might as well pull her from the mare to ride with him.

The small cuts on his arms stung as a reminder of the morning.

He shifted the reins and reached, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. Her shoulders lifted in a sudden, jerky breath her head dipped and golden hair slid forward.

"You have nothing to fear from Kol, love." He leaned forward, murmuring against her ear in what he hoped was a soothing tone. He didn't know what had happened with the woman outside the tent, but he knew what he told her was true and he repeated the phrase softly while rubbing his thumb over her palm until she relaxed.

He drew their joined hands towards her body and loosed the reins, allowing, the horse to take the lead. They rode in silence like that for several minutes before he felt the slight rumble of her stomach.

He let go of her hand and she twisted to look at him, but her frown melted away as he passed her a skein of water and told her to drink. He watched from the corner of his eye as she sipped, and reached into a saddle bag; his fingers sifted through the contents until he found what he was looking for.

He held the folded cloth in front of her, placing it in her hand when she hesitantly opened her palm. She hadn't eaten anything the previous night and after the turmoil she had endured he didn't push it; likewise, he hadn't pushed when she refused food that morning, but now that he could feel her hunger he had to insist.

"You need to eat."

Caroline glanced back over her shoulder, slowly unwrapping the folds of cloth. He saw her nose wrinkle when the smell wafted up.

She lifted one small fish and tilted her head. Living as far from the sea as she did he doubted she had ever seen herring, and he knew the smell - not unlike that of a rotting corpse - would be off-putting. The flavour would also take getting used to, but the small fish would be filling and easily capable of staving off her hunger; besides, as a staple of their diet she would have to get used to it.

He plucked the dried fish from her fingers, raising it to her mouth.

"Eat, Caroline." He felt her hesitation, but then she surprised him by opening her mouth and biting the head off the fish.

She chewed fast, swallowing and pressing her hand to her lips. Her eyes flittered to his face and then his fingers. Carefully she reached for the rest of the fish.

* * *

On every other step his knee brushed against her thigh where her hand rested. Strong fingers skimmed over her knuckles and squeezed, pressing gently into her palm.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop it," she snapped, her eyes lowered. She twisted her wrist, twining their fingers together and looking up to meet his dark eyes. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was my knife," he shook his head.

"And she only had it because I stormed off and you followed," the fight went out of her eyes; she closed them, seeing again the lifeless form.

"I gave you every reason to walk away, darling," he lifted her hand, kissing her knuckles, "and if I am forbidden from blaming myself then so are you."

She swallowed, her thumb smoothed over the leather reins.

"Elena," he rubbed her hand, "it wasn't your fault."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Tears stung her eyes and she stubbornly blinked them away; it had taken too long to gain her clansmen's respect, and she would not lose it to tears no matter how well they had been earned.

"It is," he nodded, a sad smile on his lips, "but I know it won't. You'll blame yourself until you don't, and the only thing I can do in the meantime is distract you."

"I'm well versed in your distractions," she huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes.

"That is not what I meant," he smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to her palm, "at least not at this moment."

"Very well, Kol," she shook her head, "how are you going to distract me?"

He tilted his head, tracing the curve of her cheek and the slope of her nose with his eyes. "Have you eaten anything?"

She turned her head in time to see his eyes flit to her stomach, and sighed.

"Are you going to hover for the duration of this pregnancy?"

"If you think I'm leaving your side, then you have another thing coming my love," he laughed, releasing her hand. "You didn't answer my question," he reached into the bag hung over his shoulder.

"No," she breathed in slowly. "I haven't eaten. I couldn't think of it after… I didn't think I would keep anything down," she admitted in a low voice. "And if you're reaching for herring, forget it; I can smell it somewhere and it will be going nowhere near my…"

Elena trailed off as a small jar was held in front of her. She took it, carefully pulling off the lid to examine the contents. A creamy white substance greeted her and as she watched a few blueberries were dropped on top.

"Nik found a bush when he was making paint and left a few extra for you," he explained.

"Where did you get skyr?" She took the carved spoon he held out, dipping it into the thick yogurt. "I thought all of it was left at the ship for the return."

"And when we were leaving I thought you might like a treat at some point during the journey," he watched her swallow a mouthful. "Don't suppose I'll get a bite of that?"

She grinned around the spoon.

* * *

Her head nodded forwards as she fought the losing battle to stay awake. Her eyes drooped under the weight at the end of her lashes. Surely nodding off wouldn't be the end of the world. She had done it before in the past few days and every time he had held her steady atop the horse.

She had never fallen, and it would have been nice to rest her eyes for a few minutes.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind did it stop, flying away as he pulled up on the reins and brought them to a halt.

Without her knowledge or consent the sun had fallen during the ride and was now kissing the horizon, telling her she had taken a short nap without reaping the benefits. There had been days in the village where she worked from dawn until dusk during harvest and still possessed the energy to dance around the fire with Viviane, but three days on horseback and she wanted to crawl into a warm bed or even a soft patch of grass.

She heard his boots hit the ground and took a deep breath, feeling it expand her lungs. With the rush of air she found the energy to swing her right leg over the horses back. She had watched carefully over the journey, learning that the leather foothold used to mount the animals were used for balance to get back down, but her ankle lacked the strength to utilize the tool. As such dismounting had become something of a routine for them.

She swung her good leg around. Klaus took her hips in hand. She placed her hands on his shoulders. He lifted her down and held her steady until she gained her footing.

Once her feet hit the ground and the damp from the grass seeped into her bones, she shivered, feeling a new energy fill her.

"Thanks," she murmured, sliding her hands down to his elbows. She tested her ankle, shifting her weight onto her left foot; the joint ached, but her leg held steady.

Her head turned to the side opposite the setting sun. She blinked, attempting to place the sound all but drowned out by the men setting up camp. It was a slow rush of water.

"Where are we?" She licked her bottom lip. As predicted he didn't answer, at least not with anything she understood. Several words had been picked up, but they were useless in interpreting what he said.

She spun around, unhooking one of the lighter bags from the saddle and slinging the strap over her shoulder. During the first day she had considered running, but her ankle would have never allowed it and the last time she had tried she ran straight into Klaus; that had been when she knew the terrain. There was no point in running. If she did she wouldn't get far before getting herself killed or captured, and if she were taken a second time she ran the risk of being placed in a worse situation, so far his only downfall was being a part of the group that destroyed her home, and he hadn't even been present for it.

"Where to?" She patted the bag at her hip.

He said something, offering his arm as he did.

"I'm okay," she shook her head, flashing a quick smile. She wanted to walk, stretch her legs unencumbered.

He unloaded the rest of the bags, moving away from overhanging trees and setting them down. Caroline followed, limping as she went and waving him off when he cast her an inquisitive look.

She lowered her bag to the ground, huffing as she straightened back up. She leaned on her right leg for a moment while he retrieved the wood she had come to recognize as the tent frame, taking long slow breaths as he worked.

He levelled out the frame on the ground and bent to retrieve a post. She stepped forward, balancing most of her weight on her right leg, and held the post at an angle while he attached the one on the other side. They repeated the process and he was fitting the tent in place while she perched on the chest and untangled the string.

"Klaus."

Caroline's head popped up, twisting towards Elena as she approached with a smile. She said something while nodding to Caroline, and motioning beyond the nearly complete tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes: Normally vikings raided villages along the river or ocean. They would pull their ships up on the beach so they could jump out, raid, and make a swift getaway if they were chased. But for the purposes of this story I had them raiding over land.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some smut and deals with their first time together. Also contains a little competitive Caroline.

She combed fingers through damp hair, fanning the strands out and holding them closer to the heat that radiated from the fire. A hint of honey wafted up from her clean hair from the soap Elena had offered her at the river.

Normally she bathed in the morning so her thick hair dried by nightfall, but summer air in combination with fire worked almost as well as the sun, and after days of travel it had also been nice to clean up. There had been water every morning to wash her face and hands, and her hair had been combed through each day; her captors were obsessed with cleanliness, and after her short time among them she was just as eager to clean up everyday. But the full bath had been nice.

She tilted her head, trying to remember the exact words Elena had used and see if she could work out which one had meant ‘bath’ and which had been ‘soap’.

Caroline cast her eyes across the crowd, seeking out familiar faces. They were all further away than normal; Klaus had built a smaller fire closer to the tent when she limped back. She suspected it had something to do with Elena hovering very near, prepared to lunge forward and catch her in the likely event that her leg were to give out.

After walking to the river and back, she was ready to stretch out her leg and relax, so she appreciated it.

They were far away from the vast majority of people. She couldn’t see Viviane, but Leticia’s hair gleamed in the light of the fire next to her.

Caroline tipped her head back, tracing the full moon through the wavering smoke with her eyes. She couldn’t dismiss the image of Leticia’s bruises from her head; she attempted to hide them while they bathed, and when questioned on how she had gotten them she had echoed Caroline’s chilling words to Cassandra on that first night.

_“You already know.”_

Viviane had lowered her eyes, unable to look at either of them when Leticia had continued on in a condescending tone, suggesting that the pair of them had as many if not more that they were succeeding in concealing.

She did know. They both knew. Yet, Caroline had taken more than a small amount of offence at the accusation. She glanced at him through the corner of her eyes and felt a swell of confusion battle with annoyance, and the question that had lingered in her mind for days rose up again.

“Klaus?” She felt his gaze on her cheek, and twisted her hair around her fingers while she stared at the orange flames. A log popped and crackled, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

“Caroline,” he prompted.

She swallowed, unsure why she struggled with the words he wouldn’t recognize anyway, but there was a spark of courage deep in her heart that she fanned into a flame; her cheeks flushed as she forced out the question in a rush.

“Why haven’t you touched me?” The words blended together. She repeated them slower at his confused look, as if that would miraculously make him understand.

“Epli?” His brows knit together as he tilted his head.

She asked again, casting her eyes in the direction of Leticia’s gleaming hair. As she watched the girl she had played with as a young child was led away; the screams ceased after the second night, but that was no indication of anything. Caroline, herself, had gone still to remain alive.

She stole a glance at him hiding her curiosity behind a wave of waist length hair. He had followed her gaze and as she watched he lowered his eyes to the fire, starring at the flickering flames; his hands, for the first time in days, stilled their constant carving and she got her first good look at the tiny knight.

Fires extinguished at the nearest tents, plunging the world beyond them into darkness.

She ran her hands around her neck, lifting the heavy hair up and over one shoulder. Her fingers worked, dividing three thick strands and weaving a braid that was halfway to her naval when he moved, startling her.

He didn’t say anything, she wasn’t sure she would have understood if he did, but he smothered the dying fire. Without the bright light his skin paled, almost glowing in the moonlight.

She came to the conclusion her question had not been understood.

She stood when he did, limping through the tent door he held open. Inside enough moonlight broke through to illuminate outlines of objects.

“You’re not going to answer me are you?” She glanced over her shoulder. There was a twinge of pain as she lowered herself to the furs, but she kept from vocalizing her discomfort in favour of a wince.

She felt the heat of his body as he sat beside her and went on talking, buoyed by his lack of understanding, yet still mortified by the nature of what she alluded to.

“I’m not an idiot,” she whispered, unlacing her shoes. “I think I know what I’m supposed to be.” Viviane’s silence had confirmed her similar experience to Leticia. “And you don’t understand a word I’m saying,” she sighed.

Her head turned and she caught his eyes; they took the limited light in the tent and cast it back at her.

She twisted the end of her braid, breathing slowly. She went to move twice and froze both times, overthinking the meaning behind any action she might take and fearing the reaction she might get.

Her eyes adjusted until she could see the stubble he would shave in the morning dotting his jaw and lining his upper lip. Knots formed in her stomach, twisting in time with the fingers in her hair.

Her tongue poked out, wetting her bottom lip, as her eyes flickered. She dropped her braid, lifting her fingers hesitantly.

He glanced to her hand quickly but came back to hold her gaze, remaining still as she moved. Stock still. She thought be might have been as afraid as she was.

Her fingers ghosted over his cheek, tingling where his stubble brushed soft skin. She brought her other hand up, cupping his face and shifting to her knees.

He inhaled sharply.

Before she could second guess herself, or let her growing mortification dictate further action, she held her breath and pressed her mouth to his. For one long moment he remained still, and her pulse quickened.

She was just contemplating moving away, laying down and facing the wall for a sleepless night when he responded.

His searing hands circled her waist, pressing to the small of her back. One traveled up, leaving heat wherever it touched, while his thumb kneaded her skin through the dress.

Calloused fingers at the nape of her neck kept her from pulling more than a few inches away to draw in a quick breath.

“Klaus?” Her nose brushed his as she lifted her chin to see his half closed eyes, lowering her gaze to the slow smile. “Kl-“

He cut her off with a kiss, more heated than the first, and she mewled as his tongue slipped into her mouth and tightened her fingers in his hair. He kissed her until she grew lightheaded and then shifted his attention to her jaw.

She took heaving quick breaths as he pressed a line of kisses to her throat, scratching her skin as he went. He found a spot where her pulse slammed against her neck and nipped, tugging with his teeth.

A low moan she never realized she was capable of making broke through her parted lips, and he stopped.

She blinked, bringing the tent back into focus as he straightened up. There was a question in his eyes and the rasp of his voice.

The hand at her waist moved up until his fingers gently traced her face.

She took a deep breath, felt her breasts brush his chest, and realized how close they were pressed. Try as she might she couldn’t remember if she had knelt on either side of his lap or if he had pulled her there.

“Caroline?” His thumb caught her bottom lip.

She slid her hands out of his hair and around his neck, pressing her thumbs to the underside of his jaw. Whether or not he wanted her was no longer in question, she could feel the evidence like a confession against her thigh, yet he had stopped.

The question that lingered, the one she suspected he had asked, was whether or not _she_ wanted it. And that was the very reason she nodded once before meeting him halfway.

Their kisses ranged from slow and drugging to urgent and exploratory. Her heart sped, sending a flush through her body and raising her temperature. His fingers moved down from the nape of her neck, delicately plucking the strings at her back.

Her dress loosened, held in place by her raised arms and his body flush with her chest.

When his gaze met hers, her heart turned over in response.

She slipped her hands from around his neck down his chest and beneath his arms, gripping the sturdy fabric of his tunic. He raised his arms as she lifted. The shirt bunched in her hand as insecurity bubbled up once more.

He tipped up her chin and leaned forward, brushing his mouth against her cheek; the touch was little more than a whisper and she dropped the shirt. He moved in a line across her jaw and nibbled on her ear, fingers dropping to her shoulders.

His lips continued to brush over her neck and she tilted her head. She ached to feel him closer, so she grudgingly ended the exploration of his back muscles and lowered her arms to her sides, letting the sleeves slip down her arms.

The dress pooled at her waist. She didn’t have a chance to linger on embarrassment before he placed a tantalizing kiss on her collarbone and directed her down. Soft fur embraced her back, and she lost herself in the gentle sweep of his hands and mouth.

Hot palms covered her ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. His lips touched her nipple, tongue caressing the swollen bud. His hand covered her other breast, fingers rolling over her hard nipple, as his free hand slid across her silken belly.

Her senses were assaulted on three fronts, and she moved impossibly closer, vaguely aware of her dress creeping up her thighs as she did. The light gentle touch sent currents of energy through her.

The desire was strange, as was the sudden awareness of her own heartbeat, but it was not unpleasant.

It was not uncommon for girls to engage in sexual relationships in her village, or any of the surrounding ones, much to their parents warring shame and approval - not that they admitted to knowing of such activities. Men were fickle - that was what her mother had said; they wanted the assurance that their eldest children were _their_ children which required a maiden bride, but they wanted a woman who understood what it meant to be a wife and mother. That experience was something a maiden lacked.

She had experienced such a relationship before, but her partner had never evoked such emotion in her. He touched her and her entire body thrummed, tightening deep in her core; she felt her blood course through her veins like an awakened river. She wondered what would happen when that energy released, and how far he would push her before she couldn’t hold it back any more.

She was more than ready to get rid of the fabric separating them, but he persisted with kisses down her stomach. His stubble tickled her skin and she giggled, clamping a hand over her mouth when he looked up at her through his lashes.

He held her gaze for a moment, lips lifting in a smirk that she didn’t quite understand until he moved his jaw, deliberately tickling her stomach.

“Stop that!” She squirmed, hiding her smile behind her hand and attempting a glare, but her tone betrayed her amusement.

He chuckled and sat up on his knees. His hands skimmed over her hips, catching the dress and pulling as she lifted her lower body. Gooseflesh rose where his fingers teased her legs until he reached her feet and the dress joined his tunic, leaving her in stockings and nothing else.

She pushed up on her elbows, breathing heavily as he untied the ribbons and rolled the material off. When each was removed his lips brushed over her delicate ankles, seemingly pleased with the lack of swelling.

Typically there would have been another layer on her body, a shirt beneath her dress, but the day the village had been raided was warm and she had left it off.

In the dark she reached for him and he caught her hand, running his thumb deliciously up and down her palm. He moved then, laying between her legs and resuming his exploration of her stomach. She felt certain he sought to taste every inch of her body; that certainty grew as he made his way down to kiss the thatch of gold curls.

“What are you…” she gasped as his tongue swept through her folds, gathering slick arousal; she arched towards him, threading her fingers into his hair as her eyelashes fluttered against her cheek.

She wasn’t sure if she was going to push him away or hold him closer until his tongue flicked against something hard above her opening. Stars flashed behind her closed eyes; she forced them open to watch him, though it was a struggle to focus through the unfamiliar feelings coursing through her body. That coil in her belly tightened until she could see the way her abdomen clenched and quivered.

She felt on the precipice of something.

A thick finger circled, dipping slightly inside but moving no further. She forced herself to look down and found his questioning gaze again.

“Vera hann godr?”

She released her bottom lip from where she had been biting it and nodded. She inhaled fast, breath catching in her chest as he pushed forward with first one finger and then two when he found her capable of it; the stroking of his fingers sent pleasant jolts through her. Those pleasant jolts turned to near blinding as he curved his fingers up, massaging a spot that brought the stars back to her eyes.

Moans slipped out of her mouth faster than she could think to hold them in. The pressure built until it became almost too much to bear, and then he added his mouth to the mix, but instead of flicking as he had done he wrapped his lips around the hard nub and sucked.

The coil in her belly snapped, and she cried out, spasming around his fingers. She shuddered and shook, clinging to his shoulders. When her body calmed down she looked to where he was pressing kisses to her thigh. Beneath his lips her skin tingled.

Slowly he shifted to hover over her body, and she wondered why she hadn’t asked her question earlier, but that was shook off fast. She knew why she hadn’t asked. He was one of the many that had invaded her home, and it had taken days to accept his actions towards her as genuine rather than some attempt at trickery.

Her fingers explored his chest, tracing thin scars wherever she found them. There were a shocking number for someone who had stayed behind while his kinsmen wielded swords and fought. Some were thin, and some were jagged, but she traced each with gentle fingers on the path to his hips.

She felt him straining against the fabric and swallowed, pressing her palm to his covered length. He hissed, pushing against her hand.

Her brows lowered as he shifted, until she realized that he was removing the last of his clothes. Her eyes widened when she caught a glimpse as he moved back between her spread thighs.

Flesh against flesh. She chewed her bottom lip. He hovered and slowly she nodded again.

His hand snaked between their bodies to line up, and he pushed forward sinking inside of her.

She relaxed against the invasion, opening to him as best she could. He worked in and out gently, going a little further each time until she felt his pelvis hit hers.

Her moan was swallowed by his kiss. His tongue moved in her mouth in time with his long, slow thrusts. He shifted to nibble her earlobe and whisper words she didn’t recognize that nevertheless made her body tighten.

A hand curled around her thigh, lifting her leg high. She shifted the other and inhaled sharply, grasping the back of his neck. The coil wound quicker the second time around, and her hips began to raise, of their own accord, meeting him thrust for thrust while her hands explored his back.

He sped up, catching her lips in a sensual kiss as her body fell apart. Her walls fluttered, gripping him tighter until movement became difficult and her consciousness ebbed.

She shuddered, arching into him and breaking his kiss. Her cry bounced back from the tent walls, reverberating in her ears as the world shattered, fracturing into a million pieces. The pieces fitted back together until she could see a bit of the picture and feel him again. He thrust into her once, twice, three times before she felt the muscles under her fingers knot and strain.

His release painted her walls, filling her womb with warmth that leaked when he slipped out. A hollow ache was left behind as he collapsed beside her on the furs.

She stared up at the sharp incline of the ceiling, unsure, and shivered as her body mourned his weight. Slowly her heart slowed down.

She jumped when his hand settled on her abdomen, and turned her head. The moon must have ducked behind clouds because all she could see was the light in his eyes and the flash of his teeth. The hand on her stomach hesitantly shifted, curling around her hip and pulling her gently.

She followed the directive until she came into contact with his chest, naked and slick from their lovemaking; his heart beat under her ear, lulling her off to sleep.

* * *

Slim fingers danced over his chest, drawing soft lines along his clavicle and over his breast bone, eliciting a shiver. The sensation roused him from slumber. He blinked the sleep away, lifting a hand and rubbing his eyes between thumb and forefinger. The light touch stilled and he looked down.

Golden hair tickled his chin; he smoothed the wild strands away, eyes focusing on where her finger rested. He found the nail moving, barely touching a raised line along his rib. The scar had lost most feeling when it healed, but he still remembered getting it. An echo of his father’s belt bounced through him, searing along his ribs up to his heart that beat faster under her ear.

Her palm flattened, covering the slight shake of his abdomen.

He felt her lifting her head and was hyper aware of her smooth skin rubbing against his chest, but his eyes were glued on the last scar his father gifted him on the day his little sister turned Mikael’s sword on him.

“Klaus?” Caroline dragged her hand up his chest, cupping his jaw. “Niklaus?”

The sound of his given name on her lips sent a chill through him. There were only four people in the world who called him that, and each were in a position of authority: mother, father, older brothers. ‘Niklaus’, when uttered by any aside from his mother and sometimes her as well, prophesied disapproval or outright disdain that was quickly followed by a lecture of some kind. He thought Elijah might have been the only one to keep such emotions out of his voice, but that was only occasionally.

Elijah, and now Caroline.

When he dragged his eyes to hers he saw nothing but concern reflected in the blue, absence of light all but hid the flecks of green.

“Maybe one day I’ll tell you all about it,” he managed a half smile, pushing one hand through her heavy hair. He shifted the waves back revealing a milk white shoulder and the top of one firm breast where it pressed against his chest. “One day,” he kissed her brow, “when one of us has the words to understand.”

She sighed, brushing her lips over his collarbone.

She possessed a rampant curiosity, and he knew eventually they would be in the same position again; he had no desire to hide the truth of any scar she questioned, but first she had to understand him. Body language and touch would not suffice in relaying such tales.

She kissed him again, dipping her tongue into the hollow of his throat. His body stirred in response.

Under the blankets her leg shifted, toes rubbing the inside of his calve.

He listened for evidence of the camp waking as she moved. A pebbled nipple dragged over his chest and he shut his eyes, drowning out the sound of distant voices.

Caroline continued on her path, tracing every thin scar with her tongue and peppering gentle kisses to the more jagged.

She held his hips when she reached his naval, smoothing her thumbs over the distinct lines leading under the blankets. The tip of her nose nudged a scar left over from a sparring match with Elijah.

He shivered.

She dipped down lower and he gathered her hair in one hand, holding it aside so he could see her face. As she shifted the valley between her breasts perfectly cradled his growing erection; he groaned, bucking gently.

He felt her still, and internally cursed upon sighting her wide eyes. Surprise reflected in the depths, but curiosity shone outward quickly as well becoming the prevailing emotion as she sat up.

Her weight rested on her hip and wrist as he released her hair. The heavy curtain fell mostly over her shoulder and down her back, but a thin veil dropped to conceal all but a hard nipple. Her other hand hovered above the edge of the blankets and furs that he longed to toss aside so he might hold her without barriers.

He focused instead on the way she bit her lip and tilted her head until she finished whatever internal debate she was in the midst of and inched the furs lower, head moving to follow the path of the blankets; cool morning air circled around his thighs.

Her finger drew over a line that extended from his knee halfway up his thigh - the result of a childhood fall and a wound he had hidden from his mother in a stubborn fit that left behind a raised scar.

The line didn’t hold her attention for long, but she did follow it, drawing an imaginary one beyond its end until she reached the joint. Then her hand lifted, thumb ghosting along the bulging vein.

During the night she had instigated he had decided that she understood the mechanisms of intercourse, and assumed after they were done that she had not been a maiden when he took her, or if she had then she came from a village where they were more open about their sexuality and like his own people young men and women were educated in such manners when they reached adulthood.

Her fingers gently circled him, closing around his cock. His breath hitched, catching as she moved her hand up.

He allowed the exploration, watching the fascination on her face as he grew to his full length.

A grunt escaped and she stilled, asking him something in that strange tongue. He didn’t need to understand her to know it was the same question he had asked her many times the night before: ‘is this alright?’.

“Very good, love,” he chuckled, reaching for the hand still curled around him, “but if pleasure is your aim you might try gently squeezing.” As he spoke he directed her hold, tightening his fingers around her hand and raising it slowly before lowering it back down.

“Herða?” There was an accent around the word he had first spoken on horseback, but it brought a smile to his lips.

“Yes, love,” he tightened his hand again, “squeeze.”

A look of intense concentration crossed her face, deepening the line between her brows; he bit back a laugh as she undoubtedly overthought things.

Caroline shifted up onto her knees, bracing them apart for leverage as she focused on what she was doing. Matching her pace to the one he had shown her, pumping up and down. Her grip tightened as she reached the top, loosening on the downward path. A bead of liquid appeared and she paused, catching the glistening fluid on her thumb and smearing the white. The addition of lubricant made her hand move a little faster, and he groaned.

The sound encouraged her, and he would have been lying if he claimed her smug grin was anything short of arousing.

He was never one to be outdone, so he lifted his hand between her spread legs. Heat kissed his fingers before he felt the slick lips.

“Caroline,” he teased her folds with a nail.

Her breath caught, looking down to where his hand rested. He waited for her nod and then moved, coating his fingers in her arousal.

He found her entrance, pushing two fingers in to the knuckle. Her body welcomed the intrusion, eyes closing as she lost herself in the sensation. He located the soft spot inside and massaged it while locating her clit with his thumb.

Her hips rolled, riding his hand the way he imagined she would ride his cock. He bucked into her hand, reminding her of her current task as he thrust his fingers in and out.

Her eyes snapped open and she resumed, pumping up and down.

He increased his own thrusts, occasionally flicking the swollen nub with his thumb, and pushing a third finger deep into her willing body. Arousal rolled down his hand in beads, splashing his forearm as she shook, trembling around him; on the brink, but not quite ready to tip over the edge.

The steady pressure on his cock suddenly stopped and he lifted his eyes from her heaving breasts to her face, wondering if perhaps he would see her ride him. The anticipation increased as her small hand wrapped around his wrist, but rather than push his invading fingers away she moved her palm up and let go.

He frowned until she curled her hand around his length again, pumping faster with the aid of her own slick arousal.

He tossed his head back, swearing to every deity he could think of until he heard her throaty laugh. He breathed heavily and focused, reading the clear challenge in her eyes.

A smirk tightened one side of his mouth. He propped himself up on his elbow for leverage and thrust into her dripping body hard and fast, making her gasp and moan. Her body rocked down, but her hand kept going pumping faster and faster.

She shook her hair over her shoulder, whimpering when he seized the opportunity to suck a nipple into his mouth. Her thighs trembled on either side of his wrist. It wouldn’t take much. Some well timed acute attention on her swollen clit would break her and he would win. She would fall apart and then he would help her sink onto his straining cock, finishing inside of her and with any luck he’d have enough time to bring her pleasure again before the cry came to break camp.

Just a few flicks of his thumb.

The muscles in his abdomen and thighs strained; their lovemaking would be over quickly. He wouldn’t have much restraint left when he took her.

Just a few flicks.

He moved his thumb into position, pressing upward. Her nipple popped out of his mouth and he dragged his lips to her other breast, grazing the swollen bud with his teeth.

He rubbed once.

Her free hand reached down, lifting his tight balls and squeezing.

He groaned as his body tensed and he released her breast to look down, following her gaze as spurt after spurt of release splattered his stomach and coated her hand; a few spots decorated her flat stomach, one getting high enough to catch on her nipple.

He softened in her hand, breathing heavily as he refocused and brought her to pieces with his fingers. Her legs gave way; she slumped down against the furs, catching her breath.

He brought his hand from between her legs and held her hooded eyes as he licked the sweet nectar from his fingers. He watched her eyes drop to her hand as she lifted it up, inspecting the thick release; she caught a thick line on her fingertip, hesitating for a moment.

“You don’t have to do that, love.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, shaking his head with a soft smile, but that curiosity was in her eyes.

She slipped from his grasp and popped her finger into her mouth. She pursed her lips, but didn’t spit it back out, swallowing instead and contemplating the mess decorating her hand and his stomach.

He cupped her cheek with his free hand, laughing softly as he lowered his head and caught her lips. He deepened the kiss, dipping his tongue into her mouth and sharing her sweet flavour. Her answering moan traveled through him and he lowered his hand from her face to her hip, pulling her flush and smearing his release over her belly.

He felt his body returning to a heightened state when a loud voice broke the peaceful morning.

The call to break camp.

For a moment he considered ignoring it and enjoying his time with the beautiful woman in his arms, but ultimately decided his father’s wrath was not to be tested; he might not hit, but he could have made both of them miserable with a single word.

So, reluctantly, he pulled away and kissed her nose.

“Time to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical note: Sexuality in the Middle Ages was really messed up y'all. Virginity was highly sought after and valued in a bride, but at the same time people wanted wives who understood what it was to be a wife and a mother which meant they wanted a 'woman' and not a 'maiden'.
> 
> It's like they didn't know what they wanted O_o.
> 
> People were doing it before marriage though. There was actually a law that said you couldn't have sex before marriage (and yes my browsing history is very weird after this chapter).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter officially checks off the last of my notes for what was supposed to be chapter three. Chapter four's notes took me up to ten chapters.

She held her hands away from her body and ran gentle fingers through water blackened hair, massaging honey scented soap into the tresses.

"It's absurd," Leticia made a choking noise in the back of her throat. She glared as Elena sank beneath the surface of the river and came up, swept her hands back, sloughing water from her head. "She just bathed last week."

Caroline chose to remain silent, fingers weaving her own freshly washed hair into a heavy braid.

"They are obsessed with cleanliness," Viviane tugged on her fingers. "It's a wonder they are not riddled with diseases," she whispered, glancing up and swiftly looking back down to her hands, inspecting for the first signs of purification.

"Perhaps they are and illness will be made apparent soon. Should they continue to widen their pores with frequent bathing it will only be a matter of time," Leticia lowered her voice, as if afraid Elena would suddenly understand their words. Her eyes flickered, narrowing as they shifted from Viviane to Caroline. "Airborne diseases will seep in."

"They seem healthy enough," Caroline murmured. She had felt the kindness in Elena's touch, and the strength in Klaus' back; if disease prevailed in the camp neither showed a sign of it.

"Just wait," her eyes narrowed. "They'll all drop dead soon enough. The men sooner," she pushed her fingers into the dirt, tearing up a handful of damp grass. "They all bathe together," she spat the words. "Who knows what diseases are being passed in the water?"

"We bathe together," Caroline nodded towards Elena. The warrior woman had helped with spots on her back she couldn't quite reach.

"You'd do well to stop," Viviane snapped. She wring her hands and shook her head. "I don't know why you agreed to this in the first place."

Caroline lowered her eyes, scared to steal a glance at Leticia in case the accusations flew again. She had already tried defending his actions once to the belief of neither, and she had no desire to make continued attempts. If she told them the truth - that she had jumped at the opportunity to wash away the stain of her ordeal - they would make assumptions, believing that the ordeal had been Klaus, and she refused to let them think that of a man who had been nothing but kind to her.

Instead she passed her hand over her soft wrist and looked out over the water. "I like feeling clean."

"You will get sick," Leticia shook her head.

A cough rattled through Viviane's body, shaking her frail shoulders. Leticia shot Caroline a triumphant look, but, as Viviane had always been prone to fits of coughing, she didn't believe the point had truly been proven.

"I feel healthy," she said, chewing her cheek and taking stock of her body. After prolonged walking the pain in her ankle was reduced to a small throb but it was nothing compared to the initial agony. There was also a pleasant pull in her muscles from her early morning activities with Klaus. All were sensations that would fade, like the near constant ache in her stomach; it had faded away after weeks on a new diet. "In fact," she tilted her head, "I feel better than I ever remember feeling."

"A symptom of disease," Leticia crossed herself. "First you feel euphoric and then you drop dead."

"I don't think that's how illness works," Viviane laughed; her giggle was cut off with a cough.

"I've taken four baths in four weeks," Caroline tightened her belt, "if I were going to fall ill I would have by now." She pressed the back of her hand to her stockings and found them damp, so she left them in the late summer sun to dry.

"You know bathing leads to immorality, promiscuous sex and diseases," Leticia sneered in her best imitation of Father Athelred.

"Public bathing," she clarified.

"What is this if not public?" Viviane blinked at the water; a look of longing in her eyes.

"Does Elena seem immoral to you?" Caroline shook her head. "Or promiscuous for that matter?"

"Elena?" Viviane frowned.

"That's her name," Caroline returned the expression.

"Whatever her name is doesn't matter, she wears trousers and carries a sword," Leticia gestured with one hand to the offensive garments. "And I saw her and that man pressed up against a tree the other night. Out in the open _kissing_ for anyone to see. I'd say that meets the standards for immorality _and_ promiscuity. Viviane," she grabbed the other woman's arm, smearing mud on her sleeve, "tell Caroline what you told me."

Viviane ripped her eyes from the water, wiping a hand across her brow.

"Viv?" Caroline prompted. She bent her legs, propping her chin on raised knees.

"I… I uh…" she cast a glance out to Elena where she floated on the water, quickly averting her eyes from her exposed chest. "She collected me first," her voice was small, "and we were halfway to Leticia when she stopped."

"Go on," Leticia urged, jutting out her chin in a manner that was clearly gloating. "Tell her what happened next."

"She…" her hands twisted in her skirt. "She ran behind a tree and… she vomited. The man she's always around… he saw and rushed over. He was holding her hair, and he looked positively terrified."

As if their conversation possessed summoning power Kol stepped out from the tree line. He spared the trio on the bank a short nod, and Caroline resisted the urge to recoil; he hadn't tried to approach her since the first day, and Klaus spent time reassuring her that he meant her no harm - at least that's what she thought he was saying.

"You see," Leticia whispered. "She's sick."

"I don't know," Caroline mumbled. Her eyes darted from Kol to Elena.

"Vera einn mein, ást?" He called out, voice traveling over the water.

Elena rolled, sinking beneath the lapping waves. She called back, standing so the water rose to her naval.

"She just said she was fine," Caroline shook her head.

"How do you know that?" Leticia's eyes narrowed.

"I've picked up a few words." Caroline shrugged a single shoulder.

"Can you tell us what they're saying?" Viviane leaned towards her, eyes disconcertingly focused on her face.

"I said I had a few words," she shook her head. "I'm not fluent."

"What words have you picked up?" Viviane blinked.

The beginning of a flush stained her cheeks as she thought of the words whispered in the dead of night while he moved within her, or guided her hips from below. So many things whispered in her ear, words and phrases she understood but could have never translated without blundering and blushing, not to mention revealing what she got up to when the rest of the camp slept. They didn't need to know how just being held by him as they journeyed from one spot to another on horseback left her body on edge and tingling until she longed for the cover of dark.

"Enough to know he asked if she was alright, and she responded that she is fine." They watched him splash a few feet into the river, catching Elena around the waist. Caroline recognized a term of endearment as it left his lips.

"If she's not ill then for what reason did she take ill?" Leticia muttered.

"Perhaps she ate some bad berries," Caroline suggested.

"Or maybe her promiscuity led to an unwanted consequence," she countered, stealing a not-so-covert loaded glance towards the couple.

"Look at her smile," Viviane shook her head. "If there are 'consequences' I don't believe they are unwanted. She smiles too bright for such thoughts."

* * *

"Are you sure you are well, darling?" Kol smoothed his hands over her wet hips, softer than they had been a few days earlier.

"And the hovering begins," she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I love you," his hands roamed her back, "and you carry something infinitely precious, so yes my love, I will hover." His thumb traced her shoulder blade. "I am going to do whatever it takes to keep you healthy, happy and comfortable."

"What if enjoy being 'uncomfortable'?" She stretched up on her toes, nipping at his jaw.

Water seeped into his tunic.

"Darling," he gasped, one hand squeezed her hip, "we have an audience."

"You say that," she pecked his cheek, "as if I could ever forget." She dropped back on her heels, glancing from the corner of her eye to the shore. "Those two have been whispering since Caroline left the water."

"Caroline hasn't?" He murmured, breathing against her ear.

"Not as much," she closed her eyes, resting her cheek over his heart. It beat steady under her ear. "Her voice is softer."

Kol propped his chin on the top of her head and glanced towards them. Caroline's skin glowed, but her companions were still covered in a thin layer of filth. A cool breeze lifted their hair.

"They're still refusing to bathe?" He felt a shiver rack Elena's body, running up and down her spine. "Why you insist on this when she is the only one who participates is beyond me? Don't you miss the conversation?"

"Honestly, no," Elena smirked, pressing closer to soak in his body heat, "I find I enjoy the quiet, and communal bathing is very… different when I'm the only woman present," she licked her lips.

"Has someone been starring at you?" He lifted her chin. "Paying you unwanted attention? Tell me who, my love," his eyes hardened, "and I'll cut them to ribbons."

"I'm sure you would," she rolled her eyes, "but there has been no unwanted attention aside from lingering gazes."

"Well of course," he chuckled. "They know if they try anything I will kill them, and that is assuming you don't do it first. You enjoy the quiet then?"

"It's nice," she nodded, letting him pull her up on shore. She wrapped a linen cloth around her body, soaking up the last traces of water.

"I can be quiet." He smiled, using a second cloth to wring out her hair.

Elena snorted, wincing when she moved and his grip tugged. "You've never been quiet."

"I miss swimming with you, alright. Is that what you wish to hear?" He chuckled, reaching for her clean tunic.

"That is music to my ears," she grinned, eyes sparkling. Taking the shirt she pulled it over her head and tied up the front. "But be honest," she claimed her trousers, stepping into them and lifting the form fitting material, "it's the wet, naked woman you miss."

"I would be lying if I claimed it wasn't a draw," he waggled his eyebrows, "but what I truly miss is spending time with you. We get precious little of it on raids."

She paused, looking up from the act of securing her belt. Without looking she fastened the leather and stepped into the circle of his arms, careful to avoid the wet patches she had left on his clothes.

"We shall be home soon enough, husband," she cupped his face. "If we persist much longer the ship will sink from the weight."

"Father intends to set sail in two days," he nodded, turning his head to kiss her palm. "Just long enough to gather extra provisions in case of a storm and allow the harsh tides to recede. When the moon again wanes we shall be gone."

"Home beckons," she stretched on tiptoe, "and my next bath will be at your side in the hot springs."

"Promise?" He dipped his head for her soft kiss.

"I give you my word."

* * *

Her body shifted with shocking ease to her new routine, and despite never having enjoyed an early wake up she roused before the sun; earlier than she once did. The credit rested on his shoulders. At some point she became attuned to him. In the time before he woke his heart rate increased beneath her ear, and his warmth slowly brought her to her senses.

She enjoyed rest, but there was something nice about waking up with his strong arm around her waist and once she was awake, she was awake. He took longer, drifting off after his initial wake up. He deliberately woke her once on the single occasion she had overslept and the camp had started breaking down while she curled deeper into the furs.

Otherwise she was aware first, and she chose to spend her solitude acquainting herself with him and gently tracing the plains of his body, not that there was much she hadn't seen.

She found a quiet peace in the smoothed lines of his face, relaxed in sleep, and a rage low in her belly when her fingers ghosted over old scars; neither of which held her attention as she blinked the last of the sleep from her eyes.

Predawn light filtered inside, painting them in muted tones.

Caroline shifted slightly, raising her head and laying it back down. A few inches from her nose laid a necklace. A metal she failed to recognize hung from a well worn leather strap in the shape of a small bird too delicate to be a crow, perhaps a Sturnus Vulgaris; starlings were common enough that they could have been plentiful where he came from.

The necklace was a common fixture, pendent always resting below his collarbone. For that reason she had always been hesitant to touch the clearly precious object, but her curiosity always won out in the end.

Her hand slid up his chest, lifting the bird with the tips of her fingers. The edges beneath her thumb were smooth, and she rubbed them.

Her stirred as she traced the bird's beak and she paused, peeking up through her lashes to see him watching her. Shame prickled the back of her neck, and she carefully lowered the warm metal.

He lifted his head before it could touch skin, reaching behind his neck and lifting the leather. The arm around her waist moved, grazing over her hip until he could hold her wrist, putting a halt to her retreat.

The small bird landed in her palm. She glanced up at him again in time to see his short nod.

He loosened his arm as she rolled, following her to prop his weight on his elbow.

Caroline bent her knee and wiggled her shoulders until she rested in a comfortable position on her back. When she was situated she tilted the pendant from side to side, catching her nail in minuscule feathers she hadn't noticed before.

"Hann vera til gipt at ek móðir," he murmured, skimming his fingers over her wrist and down her arm.

'Móðir' sounded remarkably similar to 'faðir', so he must have spoken about his mother. Had the pendent belonged to her, or had it been a gift from her?

"It's beautiful," she tilted her head, thinking of the few words she had catalogued. One he whispered in her ear at night she had heard Elena use when Kol presented her with a delicate silver ring; her voice had lacked the reverence Klaus possessed when he looked at her and said it, but she felt confident in her translation. "Fagr."

He laughed, not a cruel sound. It was a noise of pure amusement, and she couldn't help from smiling when he tipped up her chin with a finger.

"Einn vest fagr," he bent brushing his lips over her brow and her cheek. His tongue parted her lips, gently sweeping into her mouth.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, flattening her palms below his shoulder blades. The necklace pushed into his skin, bouncing slightly with each beat of his heart.

He pressed a line of gentle kisses across her jaw.

"Ek telja fagr vera á the auga á the øgha," his soft breath fanned over her ear and she shivered.

She shifted, turning her head to give him access to her throat. He made it to the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder and stopped. The muscles under her hands bunched, knotting tight as he turned his head to the tent wall.

A bird trilled a song above their heads, but otherwise nothing seemed remiss. There was certainly no reason for the furrow between his eyebrows.

"Klaus…" Her voice was cut off by his fingers on her lips.

He shushed her, eyes focused in the same direction.

She strained her ears, listening to the typical sounds of the morning: a crackling fire, singing birds, and the ring of steel…

Ring of steel?

She used her elbows to lift her shoulders and turned her head. Metal met metal somewhere in the distance, and as she listened it got closer and louder.

It was not uncommon for some of the men to fight amongst themselves in the morning, sparing until first blood was drawn, but it seemed a little early for such activities. Everyone had been exhausted after spending the previous day loading a ship off the shore. Viviane and Leticia had broken when they realized they would soon be placed on board as well, but Caroline had felt a strange sense of elation; she didn't know where they were going, but it was somewhere new.

She had expected everyone to sleep and forgo any unnecessary activity. Evidently Klaus had as well.

She watched him jump up and quickly dress.

Knots formed in her stomach. She shifted to her knees, reaching for her dress. She was fitting her arms into the sleeves when she heard a man scream; the sound was one she had hoped to never hear again after the village, and unmistakable as the cry of the dying.

Klaus secured his belt, and reached for his sword. He pulled a knife from a sheath and held it out.

Her fingers curled around the hilt, and the knots tightened.

"Vera hér," he gestured to the tent.

She nodded and he left, following the sounds of conflict. Her fingers tightened leaving a starling shaped indentation in her palm.

She had to force herself to put down the weapon long enough to hastily tie up her dress and pull on her shoes. Then the blade was firmly in her hand.

She clutched his necklace and wondered if she would have the strength to use the knife.

* * *

Chaos erupted, engulfing him in a cacophony of noise the moment he ran into the centre of camp. He paused for a moment and took it all in.

Swords dripped blood onto the grass, but it was nothing compared to that soaking into the beach from several bodies that had fallen near the start of the sand. He recognized two of the men, but several strangers bled out next to them, bringing the unique mix of blood and brine to his nose.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, spurring him into action. He ducked under swinging blades, narrowly avoiding blows as he tried to figure out where the opposing force had come from. They dwindled fast, suffering more losses than his own people; dressed in simple clothes, and holding weapons in awkward grips. These were men used to holding hoes, not swords.

There was nobody to actually engage with as he spun in a quick circle, searching the crowd. He thought he might even make it through the attack without bloodying his sword; he felt confident of it.

His eyes flickered to the right, landing on Elena as she cut a man down. His jaw clicked.

A second man had seen the first fall and was moving fast towards her back. His arm rose, feet moving him to break the man's path. He swung, throwing his weight behind his sword, slicing deep. The steel caught at his throat, opening his neck from ear to ear in a macabre grin.

Blood sprayed his tunic, spattering his face in crimson. He blinked, eyes burning. When the sensation passed and he looked up it was to catch Mikael's eyes; there was a light there he had never seen before.

He didn't get time to dwell on it before a scream rent the air.

* * *

Elena swiped the back of her hand over her eyes attempting to clear the blood and succeeding in smearing it down her cheek. She spun as a body fell, following the line from the extended blade to Klaus' arm and finally looking down to the body at his feet.

She wanted to stay and thank him, but a man slinking through the tall grass caught her eye. She followed at a fast pace a few feet behind, close enough to hear him whispering as loud as he dared to avoid detection from anyone still engaged in fighting. There weren't many, Mikael and the others had begun gathering anyone still alive.

She strained her ears, but the words were foreign.

He ran, bent low, and she followed. They didn't travel far before his whisper was answered by a confused voice coming from a tent she recognized.

She swore under her breath, jogging to cut the man off.

He lifted the flap of the tent, and she shoved his shoulder making him stumble sideways, but he remained on his feet.

She jumped out of the knife's path, jabbing her arm forward. Whoever he was, he lacked any true skill and left a weak spot open. She exploited it, driving her sword through his ribs.

He dropped, swinging wildly with his final breath, striking true.

She cried out, dropping her hands to her stomach. Blood oozed between her fingers. She swayed, falling sideways into the tent as her vision swirled. She barely felt the pressure on her stomach.

The scream fell on her deaf ears.

* * *

He collided with Kol on the race back to his tent where the scream originated from. They righted themselves and kept moving towards the sound of distress, ducking inside of the tent.

"Shit," he dropped to his knees. He pressed his hands next to Caroline's blood stained fingers, brushing the necklace still wrapped around her palm.

"Kol," he looked back over his shoulder, snapping when he saw his pale brother. "Kol!"

He ripped his horror filled eyes from Elena's abdomen, looking at Klaus. He fell pushing Caroline aside a little harder than he meant to and tearing away the blanket she had been using to hold the wound.

His stomach turned at the sight of her blood. He forced himself to swallow down his rising bile and flattened his palms over her stomach. Energy tingled under his skin as he murmured. Half of his words were a spell, and the other a prayer, pleading with Frigg to intervene.

Klaus' attention split between his brother's fight with fate, and Caroline's shaking hands; she kept starring at the sticky red clinging to her fingers - the knife at her knee was clean. She was babbling something too fast to understand, gesturing towards the door.

Had she seen the body outside?

He held her wrists and she lapsed into silence. The only sounds that remained were Kol's increasingly desperate spells and prayers. Quietly, he begged Elena to hold on and fight, knowing his brother would never fully recover if he lost her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History notes time.
> 
> The part of the chapter where I get my nerd on :D
> 
> Okay, so lets start with Vikings and their bathing habits.
> 
> These were some of the cleanest people in medieval Europe. We're talking washing hands before every meal, heads every morning. They combed their hair every days and might even have rinsed it out with water. Excavations have come up with everything from combs to ear cleaners.
> 
> These people were very into being clean.
> 
> They took one full bath at least once a week. That's what Saturdays were for. And when they bathed a lot of the time it was communal. That's part of the reason I had Elena so calm about bathing with others. She's used to it so to be naked in front of other people is no big deal. She wouldn't jump her husband right then and have her way with him in front of witnesses, but she's also not in a hurry to throw on clothes.
> 
> They were super clean. I cannot stress this enough. There have been accounts from the middle ages of men complaining about Vikings having affairs with their wives because these men were so freaking clean.
> 
> For everyone else's opinions on bathing just take a look at Leticia's complaints. Frequent bathing led to disease and promiscuity.
> 
> Now lets move on to food.
> 
> Viking diets were shockingly proficient. They had everything: meat, fish, vegetables, cereals and milk products. I had Elena eating a yogurt a couple of chapters ago that would have been a staple of Viking diets. Even living off the land, as raiding parties did, Caroline is eating better than she has her entire life. Her family was reasonably well off, but her diet still would have been that of a medieval peasant: bread, cheese, some vegetables and occasionally (if they were lucky) some meat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: It has been insanely hot all week which made writing anything new nearly impossible. Luckily I'm a month ahead with my chapters. ;)

Caroline raked her hands through her hair. She ignored the smeared blood where it stained the spun gold crimson in favour of the expanse of skin she could hardly see through the red.

Her belief that Elena possessed magic proved false, and if any amongst them held forbidden power it was Kol. That was the only logical explanation for what she had seen as his assistant, or was it illogical?

Though her tasks were simple in nature she had been kept busy from the moment he shoved her aside.

She monitored the slumbering brunette's bandages from where they both resided in the only dry position on the ship because without fail her wound would reopen and seep blood through the material over her stomach. Until that point the journey all but bored her to tears; alone with a woman who by all rights should have been dead, but who she couldn't find it in herself to wish death upon.

When the blood poured she rushed to action, pressed her hands to the wound, and shouted for help.

She wasn't sure what Kol did up until that point - probably something that aided in the ships movement - but he always hurried inside and moved her hands away and though he endeavoured to treat her better than the first time she always felt the fierce urgency in his hands.

From there the job was his and she watched in amazement as he whispered in desperation with his hands over her belly; the wound always came back together, the bleeding always ceased, but he never managed to close it entirely.

He would linger until sharp voices called him back to the deck, coaxing Elena to lift her head and drink.

Caroline lacked enough language to recognize the words he would whisper, but she understood the desperation in his tone. The longing reflected in his eyes told her how much Elena meant to him.

He usually managed to start cleaning the mess once Elena drifted off, but he never got time to complete the job before a voice she had come to recognize as Mikael shouted.

Then it was her turn.

Caroline took over, blew out a rush of air, and reached for the bowl Kol managed to pour the water in. She wrung out the cloth and set to work, gently dabbing at skin, apologizing at the sounds of discomfort Elena made in her sleep.

Her mind drifted back as she cleaned, recalling Elena's gentle fingers spreading a green gel over most of her body. If only she had some of that substance. Maybe the wound would have completely healed then, but Kol never appeared with the elixir in hand, leading her to believe that it either wouldn't work or there was none left. She sincerely hoped the miraculous medicine hadn't been wasted on her; in the face of Elena's wound her injuries felt trivial.

By the time the tent opened again she had wiped all she could and cleaned her hands; only the hardly closed scar remained. She looked up through her lashes, focusing her eyes.

"Klaus?" She licked her bottom lip.

"Caroline," he knelt beside her, watching as her fingers fumbled with a cloth.

She hoped they found land soon. The rocking ship turned her stomach, making her shake and tremble. And they were running out of clean cloth. Weeks ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about reusing the first bloodstained bandage, but Kol seemed obsessed with keeping the area clean and even if she had the words to argue she wouldn't have.

Klaus caught her wrists, stilling her hands and taking the cloth from her fingers. He deftly folded it and wrapped the wound.

She lifted her chin when he cupped her face, sighing as his thumb rubbed her cheek bone. He traced the dark circles and leaned forward, brushing his lips over her brow.

"Einn thurfua hvíla," he nodded to the other pile of furs.

She glanced to the second bed, spaced a few paces from Elena. She had spent the last few nights sitting there, watching the unsteady rise and fall of her breast.

"I can't," she shook her head, "Elena…"

"Hvíla, Caroline," he took her shoulders, moving her backwards until she sat down. He said something further that she didn't quite catch, turning his head towards the entrance.

Her eyes flickered, growing round when they were joined by Leticia. She didn't understand what he said next, but gathered by his exit that she was to be relieved of her duties for a time.

"This is where you've been?" She shivered, crossing her arms as she dropped to the deck.

"It's been exhausting," she took a fur from the pile, handing it to Leticia who stared at it suspiciously before giving in and wrapping it around her shoulders.

"You call out at all hours?" She glanced at Elena.

Caroline nodded, laying down on her side and lifting a second fur over her body. "She keeps bleeding, and I have to call for help. Kol comes and stops it," she yawned. Her eyes blinked, struggling to stay awake. "If I fall asleep then you have to watch and yell if she starts bleeding again."

"Why?" Her eyes focused on Elena's pale face. "Let her bleed and die. One less of them."

"Leticia," she sighed, pushing up on her elbow.

"Do you even know how she was wounded?" She muttered, gaze boring into Caroline's tired eyes. "Do you know who did it?"

"It was one of the people attacking us," she shrugged. Everything had happened so fast; one moment she was in the tent and the next Klaus was passing her up into Elijah's arms so she could find her footing on the ship.

"They were attacking _them,_ " she snapped, pointing wildly to Elena. "They were rescuing _us._ I suppose you didn't see the man outside the tent. The one who was coming for you?"

She pushed up on her elbow, slowly shaking her head and wishing Klaus had brought her Viviane instead.

"It was _your_ betrothed," she sneered at Elena, "the man you were promised to. He ran when they attacked our village, and came after us."

 _He came after his property,_ Caroline bit her cheek, lacking the courage to tell Leticia he never would have come if everything he owned hadn't been taken or destroyed. The thought that he chased after her might have been romantic, but he had never been the romantic type; he might have undertaken an epic rescue mission for his father, but even that was doubtful as without him he would have inherited everything that remained - even if it was only the land.

"He was a fool," she felt her lip curl and tempered the expression.

" _She_ killed him!" Dark eyes flashed, reminding Caroline of Leticia's courtship with the man she had been promised to before the arrangements were made. "She deserves to die."

"Then you shouldn't be in here." She sat up fully, gesturing to the door.

"What?" Leticia's brows lowered.

"You heard me," she yawned, covering her mouth. "I don't trust you to help her if she needs it."

"Why are you helping her at all?" Venom dripped from her tongue.

"I like her, Lettie," Caroline wrapped her fur around her shoulders. "She helped me when I was hurt, and I'm not going to let her die."

Elena shifted, a pained groan escaping, and Caroline rolled to her knees, shuffling to her side. A bright red line ran in a curved over the bandage; she folded it back. The skin strained and tugged apart, causing what she assumed to be immense pain.

"Go get help." She recovered Elena's stomach, using her hands to hold it together. She could have shouted again, but it was nowhere near serious enough to warrant screams; he had just left and needn't race back to the tent.

Letitia stared at the bandage, slowly soaking through with blood, and Caroline snapped at her to move.

* * *

"Watch what you're doing!" Elijah snapped, grabbing the back of Kol's shirt before he could tumble headfirst over the side of the ship.

"I was watching," he grumbled, swaying dangerously close to the edge again.

"Watching what?" Klaus snatched his other arm. "The inside of your eyelids?"

"Riveting entertainment," Kol yawned, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Perhaps you should find a safe place to be entertained," Elijah held his brother up.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, working on the tense muscles. "Between navigating for father and keeping my wife from meeting death I lack the time."

Klaus peered over the bow of the ship, taking in the dark line on the horizon. "Home is in sight, and Elena remains stable."

Kol started to nod, dreaming of laying down for a time. He wasn't fool enough to believe he could possibly sleep - at least not restfully. He wouldn't properly rest until they were home and mother took over. If only he had been stricter with healing and refused minor injuries; he might have possessed the necessary supplies to heal her, and then the question of her health - their health - would not be a boiling mess that made him want to wretch into the waves.

He started to nod, but froze when his eyes landed on the tent he had insisted be set up on deck without his father's objections. That had raised a few brows that he was too busy to provide answers for.

"You were saying?" He nodded towards Leticia, speeding as fast as possible through the bodies of sailors and slaves.

* * *

The ship approached fast, aided by a sudden wind from nowhere. She recognized such winds as a constant fixture of her childhood; from the moment her family moved to the town unnatural happenings abounded, or natural, depending on one's point of view. Most of the neighbours remained oblivious to the tingle in the air, but - like her sister - she was sensitive to the use of magic, though her own skill remained abysmal; she knew when it lingered in the air.

The power on the wind tasted of fear, desperation and Kol.

"Something's wrong," she curled her fingers in Rebekah's sleeve, stopping the blonde in her tracks.

"What is it?" She spun on her heel. The easy smile melted from her face and she dropped her basket, reaching for the small swell of Katerina's stomach. "Is it the baby?"

"No," she swallowed around the lump in her throat. Her braids whipped over her shoulder as she turned her head towards the water. Unwarranted panic gripped her heart, crushing her lungs and making it difficult to draw breath.

The basket of clean laundry tumbled from her arm, fabric spilling over the ground. She stepped through it, grinding the material into the mud beneath her heels.

She hiked her skirt up, flashing her lower legs as she ran through the centre of the forming crowd. Excitement buzzed, bubbling forth through the raised voices of wives and children eager to greet their beloved husbands and fathers. She shoved her way through the hopeful, happy masses, aided in no small part by her position amongst her people; only her mother-in-law and the widowed Sage held more power than her.

She caught sight of them near the dock as she tripped, pitching forward over a heavy stone.

"Katerina, be careful," Rebekah's voice sounded at her elbow.

She found her footing with the aid of the hands around her waist, and cast Rebekah a thankful glance; for a small woman, she was deceptively strong, but then again her own sister appeared innocuous when she was at home. If Mikael would have allowed it Katerina was certain his young daughter would learn the ways of the shield maidens, but between her father and elder brothers Rebekah was smothered in overprotectiveness.

"I'm fine," she patted her hands, but when she started again she chose small quick steps, sidling up to the other women.

"They rejoice too soon," Esther stared out to sea. The ship approached on a brisk wind.

"Kol should call back the wind before they run ashore," Sage murmured. She bent at the waist, lifting her young son to her hip. "Why isn't he?"

Katerina glanced down to her feet, shifting on the ground as Sage fought the urge to run out of the oncoming ship's path and place her son somewhere safe.

"Because something's wrong," Esther straightened her shoulders. "Rebekah, run and fetch that slave girl of Kol's."

"Mother?" She squeezed Katerina's arm.

"Do not argue with me, daughter," she snapped, fixing Rebekah with a hard look. "The weather is ideal and they would have reached us without delay. There is no reason for your brother to hasten their approach short of severe injury. The girl has power that will assist, now go!"

Rebekah nodded, running back through the crowd to the house. With everyone away Kol had left the girl in their care where she would be safe from any outlaws that might have gotten it in their heads to attack his home.

"Half the time I think that's why he wanted her," Esther muttered under her breath.

"It's not for companionship," Katerina's spine trembled, thoughts on her sister and husband. Both were exceptionally clever and equally skilled, but Finn had been as well and Elijah had still been required to step in when Sage's son was born*; Finn, who had never met his child.

She longed to reach out, take comfort in Sage or Rebekah, but Rebekah was gone, and Esther matched her husband's views on weakness.

The ship docked and she took a halting breath, waiting with her heart in her throat. One of the many traditions observed was that of embarking and disembarking a vessel in order of social hierarchy. As Jarl, Mikael would be first on land, and would be followed by each of his sons in order of birth: Elijah, Niklaus, and…

A man jumped from the ship, landing on the dock with a thump.

Her heart plummeted.

It was Kol.

Esther's sharp cry drowned out her sob. She forced herself to stay calm and watch, as she prayed for an injury Esther could heal and waited for her sister who always left with her husband.

Through her bleary eyes she noted something was wrong. Kol wasn't offering Elena an unneeded hand; he was crouching - extending his arms. She blinked away her tears and was able to focus, first on the man transferring a large bundle of furs.

It was her husband. Elijah lifted the bundle with the aid of his father, placing the burden in Kol's waiting arms.

A hysterical laugh erupted from her throat, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the giddy sound. He was alright.

Then her heart dropped lower - falling nearly to the ground. The way Kol cradled the bundle to him told her it was a person, small enough that he could lift on his own with relative ease: a woman.

She told herself it was a slave girl, comforting her own mind with the obvious lie for as long as she could deny the truth. Time slowed as he ran down the dock, calling from underwater.

"Mother!"

* * *

A hush prevailed over the shore, thick with suppressed excitement. Men, women and children lined the banks; they vibrated and bounced, eager for those on board the ship to disembark. Bright smiles clung to the faces of everyone.

Everyone, save three women nearest the dock.

As the sail strained under the wind the people grew from minuscule specks, she took the time to study the trio.

The first woman stood tall with gleaming blonde hair tied in what Caroline assumed to be intricate braids; her head sat high on rigid shoulders.

The second's hair gleamed red, nearly as tall as the first; a small child perched on her slim hip.

The third woman was the shortest and achingly familiar; she twisted to to stare after a flash of blonde hair bobbing through the crowd before back.

Caroline's heart stuttered, eyes stuck on the short woman's uneasy expression through strands of whipping blonde hair.

She hardly noticed the ship docking until her hair stilled, fluttering about her shoulders. Her attention was pulled from Elena's carbon copy when the energy on shore changed as Kol leapt over the side of the boat.

Her body twisted around to watch, and she stumbled; days of mostly sitting to care for Elena had allowed her ankle to heal completely at the cost of learning the motions of a boat. She would have fallen and introduced her body to the deck in a violent manner if Klaus hadn't caught her.

His arm wrapped around her waist, securing her back to his chest. She curled her fingers around his damp shirt sleeve and found her feet, watching as Elijah and Mikael lifted a tightly wrapped Elena up into her lover's arms.

Kol took only a moment to secure her weight and then ran as fast as he dared, calling as he went a single word.

Mikael leapt out as Kol's feet touched land. He was immediately followed by Elijah who hurried after his brother, surpassing the younger man in time to catch the falling woman.

A cry of anguish rose up from her lips, engulfing the largest village she had ever seen as she strained against Elijah's hold.

Chaos broke free, reigning supreme, and Caroline lost track of time. One moment she was wrapped up in Klaus' hold and the next her feet sunk into damp earth in the middle of a large crowd. People rushed in one direction. She had no choice but to follow the flow of movement, and still sharp elbows rammed into her ribs.

She paused at the first available opportunity, sucking in heavy breaths. Her lungs struggled to keep up with the most exercise she had done in weeks. The sudden movement brought a wave of dizziness; the solid structure of her surroundings centred her. She swallowed, quelling a swell of nausea and pressed her fingers harder to the side of the building; a series of carved knots pushed back, biting into her hand.

Weight shoved her from behind, and she fell into the wall, hissing as her palm dragged over a jagged edge. Skin tore, burning where the wound touched cool air.

She felt rather than saw the flurry of motion following her scrape. A young man no older than sixteen was shoved less than a foot from where she clung to the building for balance. Her eyes focused on him, dragging from his flabbergasted expression down, settling on the hands gripping his collar; she knew those hands, knew the reserved strength in the fingers so often stained with paint.

"Klaus…" she stood tall, ignoring the splinter in her hand and the trickle of blood rolling down her finger. Her eyes snapped to his face, contorted in rage as he spewed words too fast for her to attempt to make sense of at the young man. Weeks ago she might have felt a sense of triumph at the rush of easy anger that proved everything Leticia said and she had first suspected true, but she had seen beyond the temper.

"Klaus!" She gripped his forearm, wincing as the splinter pushed in farther.

His voice cut off, eyes dropping from the man to her curled fingers and then lifting to her face. She held his stare until his expression softened, murmuring low. "Let him go, please. I'm alright."

As she whispered she uncurled her fingers, sliding just the tips over his wrist, leaving a line of blood across his sleeve. She pulled his hand away.

"Let him go," she wrapped her uninjured hand around his elbow. "Please."

The anger still glowed in his eyes, so strong and full of such hatred that she could practically see a flash of golden fire, but as her stomach trembled and threatened to release her merger breakfast the anger dissipated. It drained out as quickly as it had come on and he let go.

The man, a boy really, made to run off. Klaus grabbed his arm painfully before he could, saying something low and harsh that made grey eyes dart to Caroline's face once before he nodded.

Klaus released his hold and the boy scampered off.

She watched him look down to his elbow, following his gaze to the trail of blood. Wordlessly he held out his palm and she pressed the back of her hand to his warm skin.

He took one look at the deeply buried splinter and moved a hand to the small of her back. She recognized the instruction to follow him, though knew if pressed she would never wrap her tongue around the foreign sounds.

The hand at her waist steered, directing her through an open door. Smoke filled the interior of the house, wafting up through a hatch in the roof that did its best to clear the room and reveal the long rows of benches on either side of the home. A few people milled around the long room; she recognized most.

The redhead from the docks sat on a bench, watching a child that could only be her son toddle around the room. The boy appeared to be the only one oblivious to the tension; he smiled and laughed, overjoyed by the edition of the voyagers.

Mikael stared at the bubbling pot over the fire pit, glaring at a woman who stirred the bitter smelling concoction with a wooden spoon.

Elijah knelt in the dirt a few benches away from the mother and child with his hands on a woman's thighs. At first glance she thought it was Elena, and that somehow - on land - Kol had pulled off a miraculous recovery. That idea was dashed when she looked a little closer. Beyond the tear tracks the woman's eyes held a hardness that Elena's did not, and even if she possessed the same easy smile the swell of her stomach made it obvious that this was a different woman.

As she studied the room, Klaus pulled her closer to the fire and directed her to sit. He tilted her hand towards the flames and pulled a narrow length of iron from the bag on his belt; he used the tweezers to pinch the tiny edge of the protruding splinter.

Tears sprang to her eyes as he pulled the wood out at an angle. She hadn't realized how long it was until he held out the blood coated splinter and dropped it in the fire.

He spoke quietly, responding to the sharp line of questions from Mikael, as he poured water over her palm.

Caroline bit down on her tongue, refusing to cry at the sting traveling through her hand. Her eyes snapped to the right when a question was repeated again. She had heard the words the first time, low and whispered, but only when the woman spoke again did she realize the brunette had been speaking to her.

"I… I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Katerina wishes to know if you are the one who saved her sister?" Caroline held her breath, slowly turning her head to the woman over the pot. Her dark skin gleamed in the light, reminding Caroline of a man who had passed through their village several years before; he had told stories of far away places where the sun never hid behind clouds, and the heat was such that people wore very thin clothing.

The woman lacked his heavy accent, but her words were tinted with something foreign. Caroline found she didn't care. Her heart soared. This woman spoke her language, and she clearly spoke their's as well.

"Her sister," she glanced at Katerina and then back, "Elena?"

"Yes," was the soft reply. She paused before going on, switching to the heavy syllables Caroline didn't understand as another woman came out through a far door. The young blonde strode towards the fire and she stopped her stirring. With the wooden spoon she caught a floating piece of linen and then covered a metal handle with a dry cloth, passing it to the blonde who hurried back through the door. Then she said something to Klaus.

He nodded once, vacating his stool for her.

Caroline's pale hand opened at the coaxing of thin dark fingers. She watched the contrast in their skin tones as a long strip of wet cloth was tied around her palm, covering the wound.

"So was it you?" She glanced up from her work. "Did you save Elena?"

Caroline flushed lowering her eyes. She didn't know how much saving she had done. "All I did was watch her and call for help," her good hand pushed hair behind her ear. "Kol kept mending the cut."

"Believe it or not, that did save her," she double checked her work. Speaking louder in the strange dialect.

She saw Katerina stand from the corner of her eye, placing one hand on her swollen stomach as she caught her balance.

Caroline stood as she approached. Her eyes flickered from the brunette towards Klaus and back to her nurse, widening when deceptively strong arms closed around her body.

"Kunna illa."

The thick voice was muffled further by Caroline's shoulder. She looked helplessly down.

"She said 'thank you'."

"I didn't do anything," she shook her head.

Katerina slowly let her go and moved back, pacing the bench she had left.

The woman stood up from the stool and started towards the other door.

"Wait," Caroline turned in her direction.

"I have to go and help," she glanced over her shoulder, flashing the blonde a smile. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll speak again soon."

* * *

"Tell me what happened."

Kol dragged his eyes from his wife's drawn face but never stopped running a soothing hand through her hair. He wondered if she could feel the comfort.

"We were attacked," he watched his mother grind ingredients. "They came out of nowhere at dawn, armed with crude weapons. She killed the man who did it, but…"

He shuddered, blaming himself for her slowed reflexes. Would she have jumped faster if he hadn't insisted she stay back from raids?

"What are you not telling us brother?" Rebekah wrung water from the bandages, using the first as a rag to clean Elena's stomach.

His eyes fell to the jagged cut.

He choked on the words, terrified of the verdict his mother would deliver; the prospect of saving her life only to deliver heart wrenching news made his stomach turn.

"I made her stay back for weeks," he rubbed a strand of dark hair between his fingers.

"You made her," Rebekah scoffed. "Nobody can make Elena do anything. Isn't that the reason you fell in love with her?"

The corner of his mouth turned up. "One of them."

"Then why would she agree?"

"Because…" He glanced at the door as Bonnie rejoined them, wiping her hands over her apron. "Because she was pregnant."

"Was?" His mother's steady grinding stilled.

"Was… is…" he looked up to his mothers steely eyes. "I don't know anymore. There's been no bleeding."

"I'd say there's been plenty of bleeding," Rebekah traced the open wound with her finger.

"Bonnie," Esther stepped away from the low table, "take over."

She crossed to the narrow bed, sitting by her daughter-in-law's hip and knocking Rebekah's hand aside. She flattened her palm below the colour leeched naval and closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind. She found the familiar spark of Petrova fire, dimmed to embers; deeper she felt until a light pulsed up and met her hand.

"Give thanks to Frigg and Freyja," she breathed, holding out her hand for the completed spell, "the babe lives. You chose a strong woman."

"She chose me," his words drowned under a choked laugh.

She spread a thick paste over Elena's stomach, covering every inch of the cut with the sweet smell and stepping aside. Bonnie and Rebekah stepped ahead, spreading the soaked bandages over the paste.

Rebekah watched Bonnie finish up by placing a cool cloth on Elena's brow.

"You're not leaving until she wakes?" She placed a hand on Kol's shoulder.

He shook his head, sliding his hand down the bed to hold her cold fingers.

"I'll get Nik to collect your things and take them to your home then," she bent, kissing his cheek.

He hadn't realized how much time they spent waiting for news until he emerged from his parents house to see the sun dipped low on the horizon. The moon would be halfway through it's ascent before he reached his own home. The journey felt daunting now, close yet far, though he normally relished it for the distance from town.

"Nik!"

His head whipped around, focusing on his little sister as she stepped outside and slipped around Caroline. She glanced curiously at her, but shocked him by holding her tongue on the matter and gesturing towards the house.

"Kol won't leave Elena's side."

"Forgive me, sister, but how is this news?" His brows lifted. "Only the need to navigate drew him away on the boat."

"Can you gather their things?" She fingered a silver locket. "Their home is on the path to yours, and it will be one less thing for him to worry about when he has to move her."

"What makes you think I'm leaving at all?" He turned, watching the distant figures on the dock, unloading the spoils of the summer raids. It was more than normal. The sheer quantity was down to his father's decision to move further inland, leaving no survivors to chase them back. It was a descent plan to bring more goods through the trade routes, but he suspected the people who attacked them - the man who hurt Elena - were survivors who got away.

"You're leaving because you never stay," she lowered her voice, glancing inside the house. "And since your presence is not necessary you will put as much distance between you and father as possible. So will you do it?"

* * *

Caroline relished the feeling of solid ground underfoot as they followed a narrow path. He had suggested she ride, but she had shaken her head, eager to experience exercise after days of minimal movement.

She walked on one side of the great horse, occasionally patting her long nose when she would nudge her side. Her mind kept jumping back to the dimly lit house and the short woman who had spoken her language as well as his; the knowledge of both languages might help her understand everything faster and find answers to the growing list of questions she kept in her head.

There was little doubt that continuing as they did, communicating with words and gestures and touch, would eventually lead to competency in his language and perhaps he would learn some of hers along the way, but she didn't want to be competent. She would be fluent; nothing short of fluency would be acceptable.

She just had to figure out a way to communicate to Klaus that she wished to speak with the other woman again. That might have been an easier task if she had caught her name.

Touch and gestures wouldn't be enough this time.

The backs of her legs began to ache the further they walked into descending darkness, and she relished it, drawing deep breaths into her lungs.

Under the waining light of a cloud veiled half moon she saw little more than the outline of the horse to her left and towering trees to her right. The cart creaked behind them as the only sound to break up the comfortable silence. The path ahead lay shrouded in deep shadows that he confidently stepped through and she blindly followed until a shape loomed, growing taller as they approached.

He drew the horse to a halt, instructing her to stay put as he moved forward, feeling along the side of the dark wall.

A gust of wind blew the clouds away, bathing the area in pale light long enough for Caroline to get a glimpse of a house built into the side of a hill and for Klaus to locate a lantern.

He struck his flint. Sparks sputtered and caught the wick, casting an orange circle around them.

The wind rustled through damp leaves along with something heavier and closer to the ground. She knew not what animals rooted through underbrush and she had no desire to find out.

An owl hooted and she jumped, gasping loudly as she twirled towards the sound.

He placed a hand on her hip and bent his head, whispering foreign words of reassurance in her ear. Her heart still pounded, pumping fear through her veins.

The hand on her hip moved, rubbing up and down until her breathing slowed and her eyes drooped. He must have sensed her calm because he stopped after placing a soft kiss to her temple.

She watched as he moved about, extracting a key the blonde girl had given him and unlocking the door to swing in on oiled hinges.

She helped him when he started unloading the cart, picking up the bundles he nodded to and quickly realizing they were the extra ones he had gathered at the boat.

She looked around curiously between trips in and out, catching glimpses of a table and shelves laden with jars and bowls of various sizes. After the last trip he relocked the door.

This time when he suggested she ride she nodded, not trusting her feet to carry her much farther.

The ride was short, perhaps a further ten minutes before a second house rose from the dark.

It was too dark to make out more than the shape where it stood tall before giving way to a field. As he helped her down she turned her head towards the rush of water and caught a glimpse of the sparkling river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In Viking culture father's absolutely had to be present at the birth of their children. If they were not then the baby wasn't considered a person until the father accepted him/her in a ritual that I'll probably talk about more in a later chapter. Right now the important thing to mention is that they had to be in the room when the kid was born. If the father had died sometime between conception and birth then the closest male relative would step in for the birth rituals.


	7. Chapter 7

Over the passage of time he grew accustomed to waking last, to rousing from sleep by her wandering fingers or the feel of her eyes on his face. He was used to being scrutinized and studied, so when he blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes and found her curled into a tight knot his breath caught in his throat.

It shouldn't have shocked him after the way she tirelessly tended Elena for days, but even if she hadn't, the two kilometre walk would have worn her down.

He carefully stood and adjusted the blankets over her chin when she shivered. The distinct nip in the air carried promises of autumn and another unforgiving winter.

A second fur spread over the bed to compensate for his lost body heat, he tucked it around her shoulders. His knuckles grazed her soft skin as he dragged a golden curl away from her parted lips.

He listened to her soft snores for a moment, and chuckled at the little sounds she made. It was the first opportunity to watch her while she slept since that first morning; every day since she had either woken first or stirred with him.

She no longer shook or clung to injuries sustained. The only trembles that worked through her body were ones brought on by cold.

He briefly considered spreading out another blanket until the hearth fire could be rekindled, but as he watched her tight brow smoothed and her limbs relaxed, so instead he bent and kissed her temple before moving.

He reached into a chest near the foot of the bed and sifted through the contents until he found what he was looking for. He placed the impromptu gift near her feet and crossed his fingers, hoping the small store of clothes Rebekah kept in his home would fit.

* * *

Kol shifted in an attempt to reach some modicum of physical comfort impossible to achieve in his current position. The angle wreaked havoc with his spine and everything else, telling him there would be a crick in his neck for weeks.

Pins and needles stung his arm, numbing all feeling below where his head was pillowed. The last thing he remembered was holding her limp hand in both of his, rubbing her fingers, struggling to keep his eyes open, fighting to watch the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

He braced himself and pushed up, reaching to rub the back of his neck.

"You fell asleep," a soft voice accused.

"Forgive my exhaustion Katerina," he snapped, fisting the sheets. "I've only spent days tirelessly tending to my wife's health and refusing to let her die."

Tears welled in her eyes. He looked away, sighing.

"I'm sorry."

Elena's breath hitched.

"Darling?" Kol leaned over, cupping her cheeks.

"Elena?" Katerina scrambled forward, struggling to escape the fur Elijah had wrapped around her shaking shoulders. She claimed her sister's hand and hovered over the bed.

Dark eyes flickered lazily from husband to sister and back. Her mouth felt stuffed with linen.

"Am I dead?" She croaked, swallowing.

Kol smiled, making a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as he shook his head. "No, my love," he pressed a kiss to her forehead, sighing when he found it cool.

"You are very much alive." Katerina shifted in when Kol leaned back to retrieve a goblet of water. She wrapped her arms around Elena's upper body, careful to not put pressure on her stomach.

Kol held the goblet to her lips, gently cupping the back of her neck. She dutifully opened her mouth and after sputtering on the first sip drank down half of the cup.

"Are you sure?" She whispered, laying her head back on the pillow; drained by the small act of drinking.

"Positive, my love," he wiped his thumb over her bottom lip, catching a drop of water. "You are both alive."

"Both?" Katerina frowned, tightening her hold on her sister's hand when she nodded.

Elena pulled her limbs free and braced her elbows. She pushed up, whimpering at the pain that flared over her midsection.

"You shouldn't move yet," he chastised, holding her shoulders.

"I have to," tears stung her eyes, streaking down her contorted features. "I need to see."

"Elena," she reached out.

"I need to see," her voice shifted, taking on a desperate pitch.

Kol moved his hands over her shoulders and gently cupped her neck, rubbing his thumbs along her jaw as he shushed her. He knew a losing battle when he saw one though.

"Let me help you."

"Let you move me you mean," she shook her head.

"Elena, listen to him, please."

"Well, now I know I must be dead." She laughed, shaking her head. "If you two are agreeing."

"You're not dead, sister, just injured. Listen, please."

"Fine," she closed her eyes. She let her arms relax when he shifted to hold her shoulders and ease her upright. Smaller hands shifted the pillows until Kol could lay her down at an angle.

He folded the linen over her legs and lifted the shirt.

She grabbed his wrist when he reached for the bandages.

"You can wait, darling." He glanced at Katerina. "A few days on bedrest and you'll be fine."

Elena chewed her lip, considering it before shaking her head.

"No," she licked her bottom lip. "If you're going to put me on bedrest then I need to see it. I need to see how bad it is."

He nodded once and peeled back the bandage.

* * *

Sunlight kissed her cheeks, warmed her skin, and fought the chill clinging to her body. She drew her limbs together beneath the heavy blankets, pooling her body heat. She considered hugging herself and staying in bed all day; it was soft and comfortable.

The bed was soft and comfortable.

Her eyes snapped open.

Slowly she blinked, bringing the small room into focus, because for the first time in months she hadn't woken on the ground. For the first time in months she slept in a raised bed.

She flattened her palm, pushing against the fur beneath her body until she felt the faint outlines of soft straw. She had heard rumours of beds stuffed with straw, had dreamt of such luxuries from the simple bed frame of her childhood as taught rope created knots in her body.

She sat up and blankets dropped around her lap. She shivered, fingering the blanket that she was fairly certain hadn't been there when she fell asleep.

Goosebumps rose under her dress sleeves.

She crossed her arms and rubbed, grimacing at the state of her dress. It was a wonder she wasn't frozen.

It was a wonder the seams still held.

Her eyes widened, landing on a pile near the foot of the bed. She moved to reach for it but paused on sighting her hands. New habits had been instilled, and though her fingers looked clean she still climbed out of bed, curling her toes on the packed dirt floor.

A shallow bowl beckoned her from a nearby table. She lifted the metal pitcher next to it. Water splashed into the bowl. She dipped her hands into the cold, plucking up a small bar of soap to lather her hands. When they were clean she dried them on a length of linen and hurried back to the bed.

She unfolded the heavy layers of fabric, testing the weight of wool in her hands. Fine and soft, it would be more than enough to ward off the chill from the shift in temperature, but the most striking thing about it was the colour.

She had never seen such a vibrant red. Her fingers traced the intricate patterns sewn along the collar in yellow thread.

She wondered where he had gotten it. Was there another woman he had around somewhere?

Was she to be second now?

Or had it come from the woman he spoke to outside his father's home? She had borne a striking resemblance to him - more so than his brothers. The colour would have looked decadent on the blonde.

Under the red she found several more pieces of fabric including an undershirt that would fall below her knees, new stockings and a brown apron.

She fingered her own dress. It had seen better days before they came to the village, but had still been functional. After months on the move the material had grown thin.

The worn laces came apart easily. She yanked the dress off, dropping it on the bed. Cold air swirled around her bare body. She danced from one foot to the other as she fumbled with the plain white linen. As she had suspected it fell just below her knees.

She reached for the crimson material, slotting her arms into the sleeves. The laces tied in the front so she had no trouble searching out the thin strings.

With her stockings and shoes firmly in place she fastened the apron over her shoulders and secured everything with a leather belt.

She folded the blue dress, holding the last piece of her former home between her hands. There was no longer a need for it. If she wore it much longer the fibres would break down and expose yards of skin to the elements.

But her mother sewed it.

She breathed slow and even, carefully folding the material into as small a rectangle as she could make it. She found a place for it on top of a low chest until she could bring herself to get rid of it.

* * *

"What are the odds of serving out my bedrest at home?" Elena blinked up at the ceiling, gritting her teeth against the pain as Kol cleaned the wound.

"You've been awake a few hours and you already want to run away from a feather bed," Rebekah snickered.

"She just wants to get out of bed," Katerina leaned against the wall, bracing her hip.

"I just want to go home," she closed her eyes. Her stomach twitched under Kol's touch. "I want to sleep in my own bed, not my in-law's."

"Darling, I love you," he dried her stomach with careful pats of a linen cloth, "but I will not move you."

"What if I beg?" She cracked her eyes open, watching him through damp lashes.

"My answer will be the same." He held out his hand to Bonnie for the paste she had been mixing.

"What if I promise all sorts of craven activities?" She tried to sit up and fell back, whimpering.

"I don't think you're in a position to be making such promises, my love," he chuckled. His fingers pressed the heavy paste down.

"Please," she curled her fingers around his sleeve.

He took one look at her white face and shook his head. "You can't be moved yet. Your body needs to rest, and a kilometre walk will not help you heal."

"Well…" Bonnie cut off as four pairs of eyes turned to look at her. She swallowed, wringing bandages between her fingers under the threatening stares of Katerina and Rebekah.

"Go on, love," Kol plucked the cloth from her hands.

"I was… I was just going to suggest a cart," a flush rose in her cheeks. She hurried to explain. "The road is smooth. There wouldn't be many bumps so she could ride; her feet wouldn't have to touch the ground."

"I love that idea Bonnie," Elena's smile regained some of its brilliance, but was still dulled by her weariness. "I wouldn't have to walk," she bit her bottom lip.

"I don't…"

"Come on, Kol," she pouted. "I know you want to sleep in our bed tonight."

"Elena," he sighed, closing his eyes.

"Please," she tightened her hold on his wrist.

"I'm surprised you haven't already tried to race off," Rebekah smirked.

"She can't stand up," Katerina rolled her eyes. "She needs him to physically move her, especially since I told Elijah to not give in to her inevitable pleading."

"Kol is powerless to resist her eyes," Rebekah glanced through the corner of her eye to her brother.

"I resent that," he glared at her. "I can say no," his stern expression melted when he turned back to his wife, "but I suppose it's possible."

Hope flared in her eyes, lifting her mouth upwards in a smile.

"If," he started draping the bandage over her stomach, "you get some more sleep, and manage to eat something of substance, then I will _consider_ taking you home by cart before sunset."

"In that case, husband," she let go of his sleeve, "bring me some food and clear out this room."

* * *

If he had the words to question and she had the words to answer she might have denied how exhausted she had clearly been the previous night, for she must have been dead on her feet to not take in anything in the main room of the house.

She stood in the middle of the main room. The same construction methods had been employed when the house was built so that it resembled the home of Mikael in general shape and size. Perhaps fifteen feet wide with two rows of wooden columns along either side to support the wood roof.

She approached one of the benches and knelt, laying her palm flat on the wooden planks that made up the bowed walls. The room stretched about forty or fifty feet before a wall that divided the remaining space into a descent sized bedroom.

She tested her weight on the bench. It held fast and she gripped a column for support. Hiking up her skirt she stepped up and stood, following the beam of light filtering in from a spot where the ceiling met the wall. Light made its way into the house from a dozen such spots near the ceiling. She traced the opening of a vent with her index finger.

A fire blazed in the middle of the house. Smoke spiralled towards every vent, and though it still lingered inside it was nowhere near the haze she had spent her childhood in.

"Clever," she smiled. A soft laugh left her mouth.

The bench creaked under her body and she scrambled backwards. Her heel hit air, but before she could work up a good shriek strong arms wrapped around her upper body and she fell against a chest. She went down a few more inches before she stopped held up by the foot still on the bench and his hands.

"Gætinn, Caroline," he chuckled, stepping forward.

She lowered one leg for balance and then brought the other down so she could turn around. Her eyes flickered to a pile of wood scattered over the floor that he had dropped to catch her.

"Gætinn?" She pressed her lips together, frowning. Had it been the first time he said the word she might have thought it a greeting, but it wasn't; the first time she held a knife to gut a fish and had come close to hacking off her thumb. Only his quick reflexes had saved her injury. His tone had been sharp then; the sharpest he had ever used with her.

"Careful," she sighed, tossing up her hands. A small smile played over her lips. "I swear I'm not a careless person…" she thought of the knife, her tumble down that hill and the dozen or so times she tried to mount the horse herself and fallen directly into his arms. "I'm just clumsy."

His hands settled low on her hips and it took her a second to realize he was examining the dress and how it fell to the floor covering all but the tips of her shoes.

She hooked her finger under the shoulder of the apron, lifting it as she brought her hand up and cupped his cheek. She held his eyes, hoping her gratitude showed in her gaze.

"Thank you." She stretched up, pressing a quick kiss to his stubbly cheek.

When she leaned back she saw a slight flush creeping over his face. She bit her lip.

He cleared his throat and reached up, shifting her heavy braid over her shoulder. She grimaced when she caught sight of her hair, lank from days at sea. She had barely managed to run her hands through it to tame the braid for the gritty feel of salt that had claimed the waves during the journey.

She hadn't realized how used to being clean she had gotten.

"Skulu einn of," he held one hand out towards the door, cupping her elbow.

"Does it involve a _lauga_?" She tasted the word on her tongue, touching one hand to her hair. The rest of her felt reasonably clean but she longed to work up a good lather in her hair. She wasn't sure how she would achieve it though; Elena had helped her with the heavy tresses since it was impossible to tackle her hair on her own.

His warm laugh made her smile.

They were at the door when she looked back to the low fire and the dozen split logs.

From the corner of her eye she saw him turn his head and smile.

"Ganga af," he let go of her arm.

She could hear him chuckling as she crouched down and started stacking the wood neatly near the fire. The sounds of amusement came closer until she felt his arm brush hers as he helped her arrange the wood into what she was certain he thought was a ridiculously neat pyramid.

* * *

Katerina stole furtive glances over her shoulder as she worked: stitch, look, stitch, look, look, wince, repeat.

"Is your intention to sew that shirt to your thumb?" Elijah covered her hand, stopping her from pricking her hand.

"What?" She drew her eyes from the flicker of light in the bedroom.

He took the mending from her hands to lay back in a basket at her feet.

"Elijah," she protested, bending somewhat awkwardly.

"Enough work for today, Katerina," he caught her arms, carefully lifting her back up. "Your mind is not on the task."

"I am focused," she breathed through the constriction in her throat.

"No you're not," he cupped her face and traced the dark circles under her eyes. "She'll be fine; all she has to do is listen to Kol."

"Did you hear what you just said?" She pressed her lips together. Despite her efforts a hysterical giggle caught in her throat. "She doesn't listen. She hates being told what to do."

"Then let's hope just this once she listens for the sake of her health."

" _Their_ health," she corrected.

"Yes," he exhaled slowly, "their health. Speaking of…" He dropped one hand to the small swell of her stomach rendered nearly invisible by her dress.

She lowered her eyes, glancing up through her lashes. "You noticed that?"

"Did you think I wouldn't see the changes in you?" A slow smile lifted his lips.

"How rude of you to point out my weight gain," she sniffed, lifting her chin in the air. She had to press her lips into a thin line to hold back her laugh.

"Katerina." He smoothed down her dress.

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder and her palm on his hand. Even through his hand she could feel the pulse of magic deep inside of her. A strong little witch or warlock that made her grateful for the presence of her mother-in-law and his brother; already she could tell it was a power she would never understand or have a prayer of teaching.

"The start of spring," she breathed, closing her eyes.

"And our child shall have a playmate." He glanced towards the bedroom.

"Assuming she can listen."

* * *

Kol startled awake, looking down to the blanket over his shoulders.

"Go back to sleep," Rebekah shushed.

"I can't sleep," he inhaled slowly.

"Really?" She pressed the back of her hand to Elena's brow. "You were doing a rather good impression of sleep a moment ago."

He moved to sit up, shifting on the bed and immediately stilled when his wife grunted.

She turned her head towards him.

"You're there until she wakes brother," Rebekah snickered.

"I never should have laid down," he rubbed his left eye with the heel of his palm.

"Then why did you? You were sitting on the stool when I left to do my chores," she dipped a cloth in water. Wringing it out, she draped it over Elena's brow.

"I made the mistake of yawning," he sighed, turning his head to watch Elena breathe. "She threatened to stand up and put me to bed if I didn't lie down."

"She wouldn't," she adjusted her skirt as she sat down.

"No, but she would have argued and possibly strained her muscles, and it was just easier to lay next to her until she fell asleep."

"Except you fell asleep first."

"I fell asleep first," he nodded. "And now I have to get up."

"You don't have to," she tapped the leather belt around her waist.

"I must," he sighed. "Bonnie should be back any moment with Henrik and the cart."

* * *

A gentle swaying motion woke her from a deep slumber. She cracked open her eyes enough to peek up.

"Kol," she murmured, turning her head into his chest.

"Relax darling," his face swam in her vision. "Just rest."

She blinked slowly. Every time her eyes opened she was met with a new disjointed image. First it was fur settling on her body. Next it was tree branches high over head.

Sweet pine.

Fluffy clouds.

Pink skies.

Bonnie's eyes.

Kol's lips.

Bonnie's hand.

Bonnie's face.

Kol.

Rafters.

Their voices drifted around her, varying from loud and close to distant and soft.

"Is she getting worse?" Bonnie whispered.

"No, better. I slipped… herbs in…"

"… the baby…"

Kol's voice ebbed and flowed, further away and moving closer. "I would never… harm our child," she felt pressure on her stomach, but no pain.

* * *

"Quo ducis?" Caroline shifted closer to him.

"It's alright, love," he wrapped his arm around her waist, adjusting the bag over his shoulder as he did. Darkness was beginning to fall, and with it her unease grew.

He understood her trepidation. Only a thin sliver of moon illuminated the narrow path through the forest. After years of regular travel he knew the way like he knew his own home; he could even see it as his mind filled in the missing details washed away by the evening.

"It's not much further."

Caroline frowned. She twisted an apple in her hands, turning the shiny fruit end over end as she had since their late dinner in the orchard.

"Klaus," she started to limp at his side, "quo ducis?" She gestured with one hand ahead of them and then behind, back the way they had come. "Sero. Is autumn non revertetur in term suam."

"We're almost there," he chuckled, offering her a reassuring smile.

With his arm around her waist he led her down the path and lifted her, jumping up to a small ledge with ease.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, clinging as he lowered her to the ground. He would have been lying if he said he didn't enjoy the way her body pressed against him.

"You can let go, love," he chuckled, smiling.

Her hands slid up, fingers tracing his dimples. He turned his head and kissed her palm.

"Look, Caroline," he lifted his chin, directing her with two hands on her hips. He heard her breath catch and let his hands fall away as she crossed the ground.

She knelt at the edge of lapping water and extended her hand.

He watched her fingers dance through the steam a few inches above the empty water. Two days before Saturday meant the hot springs were deserted.

He dropped next to her and reached for her wrist, lowering her fingers until they dipped into the water.

"Suus 'calidi," she breathed, smiling.

"It's hot," he nodded, flipping open his bag. He took out a handful of candles and a flint to light them and provide more light than the meagre crescent moon. When soft yellow flames flickered he reached into the bag again for a small handful of linen towels and a bar of soap that he held up for her to see.

He smirked, gesturing towards the water. "You mentioned a bath." Her eyes lit up at the word.

"You can't bathe in your dress," he caught the strap of her apron with his finger and gave it a playful tug.

"Hic mıhı fecisti ut me rapere," her eyes sparkled as she leaned closer and tilted her head. "Ut facerem domi," she giggled, gesturing in the general direction of the house.

He unfastened the straps at her shoulders so the brown fabric caught around her belt. She unfastened the leather and stood.

He stood to help her and folded the clothes, setting them away from the water. While his back was turned he felt fabric hit his shoulders and heard a splash.

When he turned around she was submerged to her chin, watching him with a small smile. Her eyes flickered over his chest as he pulled his shirt off, and then lower when he took off the rest of his clothes.

She squealed, swimming out of the way when he jumped in.

* * *

Caroline closed her eyes, luxuriating in the warm water. Never in her life had she known the pleasure of a hot bath. It was a luxury that few could afford. First they had to have the tub, and heating the water took forever.

Where she came from, hot baths were only taken before a wedding, assuming the bride wanted to lug the water from the river. And from what she had heard the water was lukewarm if anything.

But here… here the water waited, warm and ready.

She felt a fingers in her hair and opened her eyes, watching as he unraveled her braid.

She had never bathed in the presence of a man, and she couldn't think of any woman who had. It was against the many rules for the sexes to intermingle during bathing times.

It led to depraved activities.

She tilted her head back when he urged her. The water soaked into her long hair; it floated around her head on the surface. She stood back up, using her hands to smooth her slicked down curls from her face.

There had never been depraved activities during baths on the road, and even if there were such moments now would it have mattered?

Frequent bathing might be immoral or it might not. She didn't know. And she didn't know if there would be activities frowned upon by church hierarchy, but she did know if they happened she wouldn't be unopposed.

Really what was the difference between sex in a bed, and sex in the water?

The beads of water clinging to his shoulders like stars made her stomach twist and warm.

He took hold of the bar of soap, dipped it into the water and worked up a lather.

Her breath caught when he drew the soap through her hair and she tilted her head to watch through lidded eyes. The sweet smelling soap was worked into the bottom of her hair and up until his fingers kneaded her scalp.

Her head fell back as a quiet moan left her parted lips. She might have been embarrassed if she couldn't have felt his response pressed close behind her.

He whispered loving words in her ear as he worked, massaging the tension from her head and body.

She dipped down when he said, sighing as he rinsed the water from her hair.

Her clean hair clung to her back and shoulders as she stood and turned around. She dragged her hands over his chest and up to his face, pushing further into his damp hair.

His hands dipped under the water and splayed over her ribs just below her breasts. Those hands had brought her unspeakable pleasure, created beautiful paintings, and taught her how to do every new thing. They had also killed a man and bruised another.

Her fingers found the leather holding the top half of his hair away from his face and pulled. The blonde strands fell forward touching his collarbone.

"Do I get to return the favour?" She breathed, tightening her fingers. She pulled softly, urging him down.

He bent his knees, sinking into the water.

Her hands lowered to his shoulders as her lips tipped up in a smile that swiftly turned into a full blown smirk. When his balance was compromised she struck, pushing down with all of her strength and swimming away.

He came up sputtering, and twisted towards her laughter.

"That's what you get for splashing me," she nodded once, laughing harder when he gaped. Her mirth blinded her to the feral smirk when it crossed his face.

"Ér inna því, elska." The dark chuckle was her only warning before he darted forward, grasping at her waist.

"Klaus," her laughter turned to a shriek as he pulled them both under. She had just enough foresight to suck in a quick breath and close her mouth.

The water closed over their heads.

She blinked open her eyes, squinting as she adjusted to the sensation of being underwater. Darkness surrounded her, broken only by the sparkle of candlelight on the surface.

She twisted by feel, turning in his arms.

There was just enough light that she could see the laughter in his eyes.

Her brow lowered. Two could play that game.

She grasped at his cheeks and pressed her lips to his, kissing him. Her tongue slipped into his mouth.

She grew light headed underwater; the air she had greedily grasped at disappearing fast.

His feet touched down, raising them both back up.

He broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, and then moved back in.

The water made her weightless, so when he lifted her there was very little strength behind his hands. She closed her legs around his hips, hooking her ankles at the small of his back; a small twinge traveled up her leg.

She ignored it, but he must have felt her wince.

He stopped kissing her and pulled back.

She shivered in the cool air, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"I'm okay," she kissed his cheek and down his throat.

His hands shifted. One flattened across her lower back. The other reached behind him, tracing over her leg until he felt her ankle.

He squeezed.

She grunted. The injury was better, just a little sore after their walk. The heat was helping.

Slowly she uncurled her legs, letting her body sink back down. She slipped out of his arms and moved towards the spot the soap had fallen from his hand. She felt with her toes until she found it and then dove down.

She broke the surface with the slippery bar in hand and turned to look at him with a triumphant grin.

Suspicion flashed in his eyes.

She worked up a healthy lather on her hands before dropping the bar on the rock ledge and shifting towards him.

"Best behaviour," she stretched up, kissing the corner of his mouth, "I promise."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literally had this ready for two days and completely forgot to post it. I got caught up working on a new Kolena political AU fic (completely finished BTW, 11 chapters written in a similar fashion to A Friend Like You, if you know what I mean) because I kept putting off writing the draft chapter 12 of Frilla.
> 
> You'll understand why in a few weeks ;).
> 
> On the bright side though, my procrastination means a new complete fic that will be posting on Saturdays (provided I remember to post on time), and a GoT style KOLENA and KLAROLINE fic that's in the works.

Magic swelled in the air, the cloud of pure power pushed back from each angle, intent on naught but the purpose of its design.

"Are you serious?" She glared at the air, longing to turn the energy in on itself.

"It wasn't me," Bonnie balanced a basket of clean laundry on her hip, twisting to fit through the door. A wave of her free hand opened the three trunks in the room.

"That might make it worse," she groaned, flopping back on the pillows.

"It's not that bad," she set the basket on the edge of the bed and started sorting the laundry into its rightful places. "You spent months sleeping in tents. Enjoy your relaxation while it lasts."

"Bonnie," Elena twisted, propping herself up on one elbow, "if I have to spend one more day in this bed I am going to go insane. I can't sleep anymore. There is only one fun thing to do in bed and my darling husband is too worried about harming me and our child for that."

Bonnie cut her a sideways look as she closed a chest.

"Sorry," she shut her eyes. "Did I make you uncomfortable?"

"It's fine," she played with the amulet around her neck. "After a year I've grown accustomed to your language and open ways."

"Speaking of language," Elena sat up and folded her legs beneath the blankets, "I would like you to teach me yours."

Bonnie balanced her amulet against her chin. "You wish to learn?"

"I do," she nodded. "I think you'd make an excellent teacher."

"I can try," she blinked slowly. "I was actually going to ask if I could make the short journey to Klaus' home."

"Why?" Elena leaned forward, a teasing light in her eyes. "Are you interested in my brother-in-law?"

"The woman he brought back, actually," Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"Ah," Elena snickered, "so those are your tastes."

"Elena," she covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

"Just kidding, Bonnie," she pushed her hair behind her ears. "I've seen the way you look at Enzo." A deep flush met her jibe about the boat maker.

"I thought I might help her learn _your_ language, so…"

"Bonnie," Elena threw off her blanket and swung her legs over the bed to stand up, "you're free to do as you please."

She gave a pointed look to Elena's bare ankles when they both heard a loud crash from outside.

"Here he comes," she pressed her lips together.

"Good," Elena crossed her arms, "I'll tell him where you're going."

Heavy footfalls thudded through the house. "Elena!"

"I'm fine," she turned towards him, wanting to laugh at his wide eyes. She forced a stern expression instead. "A barrier spell around the bed?"

"I just wanted to know if you fell."

"You wanted to know if I tried to stand up." Her eyes narrowed.

"You need time to heal," he moved forward, reaching for her arms.

"I am healed Kol." She side-stepped him. "And if I have to spend a fifth day in this bed you're going to need healing. I need to get back to work. There is so much to do before the snow falls."

"Bonnie and I can handle that," he reached for her hands, "and there is not much to do."

"There is wood to cut, and preserves to put away," she shook her head.

"Preserves won't take much time," he rubbed her knuckles, "and I we have more than enough wood stored up for emergencies."

"Oh excellent," Elena grinned, "then you won't mind if Bonnie walks to Nik's and teaches Caroline. Since the wood is handled and I can take care of the preserves."

Bonnie tried not to do it, but she couldn't stop the amusement from breaking out in a loud laugh.

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?" He sighed.

"You did," Elena smirked.

"You're with child, Elena, and recovering; you need some extra help," he shook his head.

"Could I make a suggestion?" Bonnie cleared her throat, drawing their attention towards her. "Elena could start taking on light duties, and I'll set out at first light to teach Caroline. I can return by midday to do my work here; Elena will likely be so exhausted that she sleeps that long anyway."

* * *

Klaus had left early in the morning, pausing long enough to smooth the hair from her cheek and murmur quiet words against her ear. Half-asleep she recognized that he was going out, but 'veiði-fǫr' remained a mystery until she had fully awoken.

She tidied and explored everyday in the house, often beckoning his laughter at the end of the day, but honestly who stored dry food in a bench on the ground? It made much more sense to store it raised up high, and he had more than enough shelf space. Arguably he had a ridiculous amount of shelf space.

Her memory of Mikael's home faded with each passing day, but she was fairly certain she hadn't seen a shelf, or nearly as many chests.

She knew the house backwards and forwards after organizing every inch, so when she finally rolled out of bed the empty space stood out. A bow and a quiver of arrows were gone.

'Veiði-fǫr', she deduced meant hunting.

He had taken many such trips over the last few days to the point where Caroline had lost track of how much meat was drying. Her father used to hunt heavily when the weather shifted, but the amount of food Klaus had already preserved would have sufficed through the coldest months when animals were scarce.

How severe was the oncoming winter?

* * *

The arrow missed by a narrow margin, whipping over the deer's shoulders. It lodged in a tree. The rush of wind and subsequent thump spooked the animal. He watched it bolt and decided against trying his luck with a second arrow; if he missed again the shaft would be lost to the river.

"Pitiful," a gruff voice sneered.

Klaus turned stiffly to where he felt the eyes watching him. "It was not needed father." Two rabbits weighed down his belt.

"Not needed?" Mikael stared in the direction the deer had run, listening to the fading fall of hooves. "Have you not an extra mouth to feed, boy? Or has the frilla run off now that her ankle is healed?"

" _Caroline_ ," he gripped the bow tight, "is in my home. She's not going anywhere."

"She's clever enough to know better than to run," Mikael said, nodding approvingly. "Make sure to keep her in line."

He thought of her brilliant smile and stubborn nature, but said nothing of how she kept _him_ in line.

"That woman of Heimir's refuses to do anything," Mikael waved a hand in the vague direction of the village.

"I believe her name is Leticia," Klaus twisted his tongue around the foreign name. _Or is her name Viviane?_

"Her name would be irrelevant," he said, shaking his head, "if not for the child growing in her womb Heimir swears he would kill her."

"I'm certain she's thrilled," Klaus muttered, attempting to keep his sarcastic voice below his father's hearing.

"Heimir's wife is," he said, having heard anyway. "What the Frilla feels is irrelevant. Inge is ecstatic."

Klaus nodded. Inge would be ecstatic; after ten years of marriage and trying she would be thrilled at the notion of finally being granted a child.

"Is yours pregnant yet?" Mikael fixed him in a cool stare.

" _Caroline_ is not," Klaus shook his head. He felt his stomach drop. Until his father acknowledged her as something more than what she legally was any child they had would be lesser. Their future children deserved more.

She deserved more.

"I've been meaning to come and speak with you," Klaus said, clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders, "about Caroline."

"Don't tell me you wish to be rid of her already?" The corner of Mikael's mouth quirked up.

"Quite the opposite, father," his heart thundered in his chest. "I wish to marry her."

* * *

She hated being useless, so she picked up a basket after breaking her fast. The woven backpack slung across her shoulders, bouncing against her back as she stepped outside and followed the narrow path.

It had been a few days, but she still remembered the break in trees that opened up onto the orchard.

She had the basket half full of nearly ripe apples. And if she inspected each one before snapping the stems for imperfections then at least Klaus wasn't there to tease her over the neglected fruit.

She was certain he understood that one bruised or cracked or rotten apple would destroy the bunch, but he still would have teased her. And she would have wound up scolding him for laughing and slapped her hand over his mouth again. He would have kissed her palm and maybe flipped her into the grass, and…

On second thought, she wouldn't mind his presence.

"Good morning."

Caroline squeaked, slapping her hand over her heart.

The perfect apple bounced in the grass, bruising beyond repair.

"Sorry," she apologized, bending to catch the basket before it could topple too. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I suppose it was my fault," Caroline plucked another apple from the tree, setting it gently in the basket. "I was lost in thought."

"I gathered as much from the way you were staring at that apple," she nodded to the fruit on the ground. "I'm Bonnie by the way."

"Caroline," she rubbed her hand over her stomach.

"I know," Bonnie smiled. "Elena told me. I've been meaning to come out here since we first met, but with her injury I took over her daily tasks."

"But you're here now," her stomach trembled. Fear flickered in her eyes. "Is she alright?" Caroline preferred not to consider the alternative, but her mind journeyed of its own volition.

"She's better," Bonnie smiled, "a little magic goes a long way for those who know how to use it. Had his supplies not been decimated she would have been healed before boarding the ship."

"Decimated?" Her face paled as she recalled green gel and countless cuts.

"It happens when they go on raids, but she's alright now," Bonnie reached up, snapping some apples from the tree. "And now I'm here to teach you."

"Would you believe that's exactly what I was hoping for?"

"I'm probably the first person you've met who speaks your language," she mused. "I'm the first person you could talk to." Bonnie inspected the smooth skin of the apple in her hand for blemishes and wiped away a layer of dust on her apron until the fruit shone.

"I had Viviane and Letitia."

Caroline busied her hands. Snap a stem. Inspect an apple. Fill the basket.

"The first person who could talk to you about what was going on," Bonnie amended. "I saw those girls. One was wary and the other looked at Heimir as if she wouldn't mind killing him. Whatever conversation you had with them about your circumstances would have been clouded by their experience."

"How do I know their experience isn't the normal one?" She balanced three apples precariously on top of the basket and proceeded to wring her empty hands; any more fruit would have fallen out when she picked it up. As it was the last three apples were unlikely to make the short return to the house in safety.

"Normal is subjective," Bonnie glanced at the pack. "Have you thought about how you're going to store these for the winter?"

"What do you mean?" Caroline fiddled with the end of her braid.

"Winter," Bonnie repeated. "You will want a basket to keep them in. Do you have one?"

"I don't know, but that's not what I meant." She pulled up a mental image of the house and its contents for an empty basket, but found nothing.

"About normal being subjective?" She waited for Caroline to nod.

"Was their experience on the journey the same as yours?" Bonnie unsheathed a small knife from her belt and bent at the waist, cutting long grass near the ground.

"Well, no." She thought of Letitia's screams the first night and Viviane's hollow expression a few days later. Heimir wasted no time, but at least the man who took Viviane allowed her twisted leg a chance to heal; Viviane had never screamed.

"Everyone has a different experience Caroline," Bonnie glanced up as she worked, "and while some are more commonplace than others, no two experiences are the same. Did Klaus give you a knife?"

Her fingers brushed the handle at her waist, tucked firmly into her belt. A gift from Klaus the morning after their trip to the hot spring. She had made good use of it thus far in preparing food.

"Yes."

"Then help me with the grass. We're gonna need three times this," she pointed with the knife to her pile, "to make a basket. The sooner we have the grass the sooner we can start weaving."

"But the grass has to dry first," Caroline protested even as she bent to work.

"I find it easier to manipulate this way."

"And longer to dry," she arched an eyebrow.

"Not the way I do it."

"The way you do it?" She gathered a handful of long grass and swept the blade near the ground, severing the stems.

"Magic," Bonnie dropped another handful. "I'm sure you're familiar by now with it."

Caroline's eyes cut through the swaying grass towards her. The nonchalance with which Bonnie spoke made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end; she glanced over her shoulder for prying eyes.

"Do you not hesitate to speak of such things?" She cut another bunch of grass, and moved to sit when Bonnie did.

Dark eyes met hers as they got comfortable on the ground, or as comfortable as Caroline could get when she kept shifting to look over her shoulders.

"Once I did," she nodded, "but not any more. When I was growing up I was taught by my mother to never tell anyone about what I am, or the things that I can do."

"What happened?" Caroline reached into the small bag at her hip for string as she gathered a small handful of grass. She kept her hands busy by creating a basket base; coiling and tying, twisting more grass, and coiling again.

"About a year ago, my village was invaded," she played with a blade of grass. "I could describe the scene, but I'm certain it's close to what you experienced."

"Really," she stared at her hands, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Did Heimir murder your betrothed's father and throw you down on your table?"

Caroline closed her eyes and banished the feeling of phantom hands on her body. The last thing she wanted was to dwell on the memory of an almost moment until her palms began to sweat and she inadvertently took it out on Klaus.

"Over a fence, actually." Bonnie's admission made Caroline lift her eyes. "And I didn't really see the man's face, but I know it wasn't Heimir."

Caroline's heart thundered in her chest.

"He didn't," Bonnie twisted the grass around a finger, suddenly very interested in the green ring. "I was bent over, trying to remember anything that would help me, when Elena came out of nowhere."

"Did she put a sword to his throat?"

"No, it was an ax. He laughed and knocked her aside, that was when the sword came out." Bonnie tilted her head. "And it was Kol that did it. He saw his wife fall on the ground. Things happened pretty fast after that and next thing I know Kol's sword runs through the man that attacked me and I was claimed as a concubine."

"A concubine?"

"Technically that's what you are," she nodded. "They call them Frilla, but Kol's never touched me; he's too in love with his wife to even consider bedding another woman."

"Then what are you?" Caroline frowned. She tied off the basket base before it grew to a ridiculous size.

"Legally I am a Frilla, but unofficially I'm a servant of sorts. I have my chores around the house, and I assist Kol with his spells."

"What would my friend have been?" Unseeing eyes flashed in Caroline's mind. "She was claimed by him."

"Then she would have been an extra set of hands. Kol might have had her gathering herbs for him, or Elena might have enlisted her for further aid in running their household. They didn't bring anyone home?"

Caroline heard the question in her tone.

"Cassandra took her own life," she whispered, "after a night of listening to Leticia's screams; she was claimed by Heimir."

"She would have been safe," Bonnie returned in a quiet voice. "These people, or should I say our people, have a high respect of women. If a man forces a woman he can be put to death. Taking so much as an unwanted kiss can lead to banishment."

"If that's the case then Leticia…"

"Some of these men toss their rules out when they raid," Bonnie shook her head. "And taken women have fewer rights. If anyone _else_ laid a hand on you or me they would be punished, but we can't own land or any property."

"These woman can own land?" Caroline's brows shot up.

"Elena does," Bonnie smirked. "If she and Kol ever divorced she has land and money to fall back on. They were gifts from her father before her wedding, and she retains them after. I also heard that Finn gifted his bride with a tract of land on their wedding day, and despite being widowed she owns the land still. Should she ever choose to leave the town she has a home waiting, but we were talking about magic."

"Right," she nodded, remembering suddenly, "you said you once feared such topics."

"I did," Bonnie nodded. "But then I came here. They have a lot of respect for witches. At first I thought it was just because Jarl Mikael's wife, his eldest daughter and two of his sons practiced, but once I picked up the language Elena and Kol assured me that this was always the case."

* * *

Autumn mornings dawned crisp and cool but the afternoon sun burned away the chill. A thin sheen of sweat dung to his skin by the time he returned home with two rabbits and a great auk.

He left his prizes on a rough table outside and moved toward a trough of water, stripping off his shirt as he went. He plunged his hands into the cold, splashed it up his arms and against the back of his neck. Fat droplets rolled down his spine.

His skin cooled rapidly in the wind until he shivered and reached for the shirt.

He turned his attention back to the rabbits, letting his hands do the work without thought. He looked without really seeing his actions: draining, flaying and stripping the skin away in quick, methodical motions. His mind still on the conversation in the forest.

He couldn't get Mikael's derisive laugh out of his head. The outright refusal irked him, made his blood boil; he was surprised he hadn't attacked then and there. He had wanted to, but the bulk of his anger had been taken out on the bird; four of the six arrows in the carcass had been completely unnecessary.

But then, refusing to raise Caroline's status for the very reason Klaus came to like her had been unnecessary as well. 'Her defiance should not be rewarded'. No amount of arguing, or citing his love for Elena's defiance worked; her nature worked in her favour, and to the benefit of each of Mikael's men during battle.

Hatred he thought tempered down after childhood reared its ugly head, influencing his motions as he moved to the second rabbit, slices turning from methodical to wild.

He was halfway through slicing the second rabbit's skin when his knife slipped. It dragged across his palm, searing pain ran up his arm.

He swore loudly, dropped the knife and clutched his palm. Rage at his own stupidity flooded his veins and he saw red. He kicked the work table, and swore and kicked it again.

He failed to hear the voice calling him until golden hair flooded his vision.

"Klaus, mitescere!" Caroline grasped his wrists. "Mitescere," she repeated in a quieter voice. "Quod factum est?"

He frowned, looking down as her fingers smoothed over his bloody wrists. His eyes glanced to the side, taking in the overturned table and the petite woman beyond; embarrassment brought a flush to his neck.

"Quod factum est?" Caroline murmured, gently prying open the hand he had curled into a tight fist.

"She asked what happened?" Bonnie cleared her throat, finding her voice as she picked her way across the yard.

"I cut my hand," he allowed Caroline to steer him towards the water. He wasn't entirely sure why he bothered saying a second later when she plunged his hand into the water and carefully swiped at his palm; truthfully it didn't hurt that much anymore. He could hardly feel the pain.

"Luckily I'm prepared for such things," Bonnie placed the empty basket she and Caroline had made next to the door and moved towards them, reaching her fingers into the bag at her belt. She pulled out a small jar and popped open the lid, revealing a sticky green gel.

"I don't think that's necessary," he shook his head.

"Vos oportet esse cautior," Caroline muttered, shaking her head.

"You need to be more careful," Bonnie translated.

"I figured it would be something like that," he chuckled. Caroline cut him a stern look and he struggled to hide his grin. "I'm fine, love."

He lifted his hand from the water, turning his palm towards her for inspection. A thin line tingled in the cold air.

"But there was so much blood," Bonnie echoed Caroline's words, staring down at his palm.

"Must have been the rabbit's," he shrugged. "Better safe than sorry, I suppose," he tipped his hand towards Bonnie.

She spread a thin line of green over the cut and they watched together as it healed.

"What are you doing here, Bonnie?" He looked up and reached out to help Caroline with the heavy basket over her shoulders.

"I thought she might like some company and good conversation," she tucked the healing gel away.

"You don't think I can provide conversation?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"I think it would be one sided," she shifted on her heels.

"And I assume by your presence that Elena is recovered?"

"Much better."

"Well enough to receive visitors?"

* * *

The next few days passed by in a blur of new routines. She woke up. She explored inside and tidied, making sure to stoke the low fires so the smoke rose up and preserved the drying meat. Then she shifted her exploration to the outside until Bonnie arrived for language lessons.

She could recognize a few sentences and even more words, though according to Bonnie her pronunciation was atrocious; well, that had been Bonnie's translation of a chuckling Klaus.

Around midday she made the return journey with Bonnie and inquired after Elena's improving health. The recovery proved nothing short of miraculous; she would know, she had monitored the wound for days.

Klaus always appeared later in the afternoon and walked back with her. He had no trouble letting her walk with Bonnie, but he drew the line at an extended solitary journey; nervous of the towering woods along the path.

She supposed a witch made for excellent protection, and after hearing some unknown animals rooting around in the forest she had no desire to be without protection.

Maybe one day she would ask Elena to teach her how to use a sword. Of course that would have to wait until she figured out the game.

 _One task at a time, Caroline,_ she glanced up through her lashes to see Klaus studying the board.

Bonnie had explained Hnefatafl a few days ago when they arrived and found Kol and Elena locked in a heated match which Elena had ultimately won. However, Elena's victory relied heavily on her chosen lot as the odds were stacked in her favour.

Really, how could one be expected to win with significantly less pieces?

She tapped her finger on the latticed game board and considered her options. He had begun the game with twenty-four game pieces and he still had them all; her thirteen dwindled down to ten.

She moved a piece three squares to the left, catching one of his between two of hers.

A bright smile lifted her lips as she claimed her prize.

The game went back and forth in silence for another ten minutes until, somehow, she managed to capture half of his pieces and level the playing field.

She thought she was doing rather well until the board blurred and her head grew light. One wrong move along the hazy column and Klaus captured her king piece.

"I win, Caroline," he grinned.

The smile slid off his face as she blinked, swaying on her stool while registering the words. Blood rushed in her ears, louder than anything she had ever heard.

"Caroline?" Game pieces scattered across the floor as he knocked the board aside. She saw concern flood his eyes as he knelt before her.

"I…" She struggled to remember the words, the syllables that would ease his mind. "I am alright."

He looked sceptical and she smiled gently, lifting her cold hands to caress his face. She assured him again that she was fine, and just a little tired since she didn't know the right phrase to communicate her head ache.

She recognized that tired might have been the wrong way to put it when he hustled her off to bed a moment later, but she wasn't about to complain. She found she lacked the energy when he helped her out of her dress and laid her down.

By the time he closed up the house and joined her she barely felt his arm slide over her waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HN: Vikings were actually pretty chill about fertility. They recognized that sometimes when a couple failed to get pregnant it was the man's fault. This was discovered through trial and error. If the wife was unable to conceive then a concubine would be brought in and the husband would go to the other girl's bed nightly until she got pregnant. This could go on with a few different concubines until it was decided that 'hey, your man's infertile' at which point adoption was discussed.
> 
> I'm getting off topic though. If the concubine did conceive and deliver a baby legally that baby belonged to the married couple even though for the first few years the child would be weaned by the birth mother.
> 
> In this story Inge - who will likely never actually appear - is barren, but it would have been just as likely that it was Heimir.
> 
> Leticia on the other hand... we haven't seen the last of her yet.
> 
> Also, did anybody catch the foreshadowing? Can you predict the coming twists?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a couple of days late with this chapter. Turns out I had a dentist appointment that I completely forgot about until the office called me.
> 
> Anywho, here's chapter 9 and I've almost finished the draft to chapter 12. After that one there will probably be a further 3-4 chapters.
> 
> I'm curious if anybody has figured out what's coming yet.

Morning sunlight peeked through the high vents, dancing down in a swirling beams that made her hair gleam gold. He allowed his gaze to wander her relaxed features and ran his hand through the locks, twisting her curls around his rough fingers.

A day of work beckoned, eager to claim his attentions the moment his feet hit the ground, but standing up would disturb her slumber, and he lacked any and all desire to disturb.

A new job had been granted to him; he relished being used as her pillow, holding her soft body tightly against him as her even breaths betrayed her contentment.

Why should he wish to be anywhere else?

She stirred, snuggling closer and sliding her hand up his chest.

Sleep clouded eyes blinked, struggling to focus on his features.

"Good morning," he smiled. Since their arrival at his home she had taken to sleeping later with each passing day and more often then not he woke to find her sprawled atop his body.

"Good morning," she mumbled. He remained unsure if she fully understood the phrase or if she simply repeated his words back.

She covered her yawn with a hand and sat up, bending down to kiss him lightly.

He threaded his fingers through her hair and deepened the kiss, catching the back of her thigh to pull her atop him.

* * *

She hummed to herself as she bustled around the yard, and adjusted a thin layer of berries under a pane of glass. She poured the dry ones into a jar and sashayed inside, storing them on the shelves before twirling back outside.

She felt certain she walked on air as she scooped up a clean bucket and glided towards the well. Her body had been boneless since rising from bed when they had finally decided they could put off daily work no longer.

The bucket of water drew upwards with a soft grunt of exertion, but not even the physical strain on her muscles proved capable of dampening her spirits.

She carried it back towards the house. Water sloshed over the lip, splashing her skirts and leaving dark spots on the ground. The door yawned ahead and she paused. Her stomach shifted violently.

The ground turned to mud as the water fell out of the overturned bucket. Her feet slipped in it; she grabbed a tree for balance just as she threw up.

She straightened up and wiped the back of her hand across her brow.

"Caroline?" Bonnie called, eyes wide with concern.

* * *

Elena snapped the fabric, knocking loose any insects that had made a home in the drying laundry before folding a neat square. She did it again and again until everything lay in the basket at her feet.

She bent to lift it and gasped as her belt shifted, digging into her stomach.

"Are you alright, darling?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Of course you heard that."

"What?"

"I love you," she amended. Her lashes fluttered open, allowing her eyes to focus on his abandoned task. She straightened her spine.

"I love you, too," his hands settled low on her hips, "now answer the question."

"I'm alright," she smoothed a palm over her naval, reaching for the leather around her waist. She unfastened it, letting it fall open as she dropped the belt into her basket, so her dress became shapeless. "I think that… that I might be a little farther along then I thought," she shrugged. "My belt pushed against the scar."

"Shall I take a look at it?" He reached for her elbow, laying one palm over her stomach.

"No." She caught his wrist in a vicelike grip. "I'm alright. It just startled me."

"Are you sure?" His eyes narrowed.

She nodded, offering a strained smile.

"At least let me carry this inside for you," he bent for the basket.

"Because you don't think I can do it myself?" She tilted her head and crossed her arms.

"Of course you can do it," he got a grip on the basket. "That doesn't mean you have to. Let me help you."

She lifted her chin.

"Besides," he smirked, looking down, "with your hands full you're liable to trip over that hem." He backed away towards the house before she could snatch for the basket.

Elena watched him go and lowered her hand to her stomach, brushing the tender skin before lifting her skirts.

* * *

Dampness clung to the night, drifting low on northern winds, it sank through clothes and hair with the promise of rain, ready to burst through the heavy clouds before the moon reached its apex.

Then again, the moon could have been there already; it rose upwards beyond the pulsating cover of the storm a while ago.

She caught the briefest glimpse of a near perfect circle as she lay in the grass, but now the only light came from the flickering candle that she possessed the foresight to light.

Would she see the roiling clouds if she extinguished it? Would she still have a place in the dark?

Or would she melt into the night as a part of the landscape?

She left it lit.

Klaus was gong to need some way to spot her when he returned from escorting Bonnie over the path. She had tried not to jump on the gentle suggestion that she remain behind, not wanting to appear eager to avoid him or his brother because she wasn't - not anymore - but the chance to be alone with her thoughts held some appeal.

She could think without him questioning the deep furrow between her brows, or teasing her about overthinking whatever it was she was thinking about. His laughing voice and that sinful twinkle in his eyes did things to her; he would have ended up distracting her, and then she would have had to start all over again.

Alone was better for her thoughts.

Alone allowed her to count back.

Unfortunately, she lost track of the days or weeks somewhere between the old village and her new home. It had to be approaching two months; she distinctly remembered a full moon through wavering smoke the first night they did more than sleep.

She bled sometime before that.

Sometime, though she wasn't sure how long before, but it had been sometime. She knew it had been sometime.

_"Esther taught us what to feel for," her dark hand reached for Caroline's abdomen._

The spark of power shocked her from inside.

 _"… like me…" Bonnie's smile lit up her eyes, "… like_ his _mother."_

Her fingers twisted over her stomach, tugging at knuckles and dancing over wet wool. To know so soon, to take pride in otherworldly power, was beyond her comprehension, but it was alright here, acceptable. Worthy of praise and excitement and celebration.

 _Like his mother,_ Caroline mused. That would take some adjustment.

Wind whistled in her ears, whipping loose strands of hair across her face. A few caught between her lips and she lifted her hand to carefully pull them away. As she tucked the hair behind her ear she spotted movement out the corner of her eye.

Turning her head she squinted beyond the small circle of light. Tension gathered in her shoulders.

Long legs came into focus first and then she was staring up at Klaus' shadowed face. Even in the darkness she saw his dimples and knew he was smirking.

"What are you doing, love?" He arched an eyebrow. The common question was one of the first she recognized before knowing the words.

She did a lot of things differently. Part of it was the way she had been raised, and part of it was just her desire to have everything a certain way; he never minded her rearranging or alternate methods of doing just about everything, but more often then not her answer remained the same because more often then not he was questioning the furrow between her brows.

"Thinking," she shrugged one shoulder and lowered herself back down, hardly feeling the damp grass. She formed the words carefully as she folded her hands over her stomach. "Will you join me?"

He tilted his head, considering for a moment; she almost thought she had said something else, but then he moved and stretched out beside her, leaving just enough room for the broad candle.

Off in the direction of the village lightning flashed, lighting up the distant sky and giving enough light for her to catch his pensive expression.

Clearly he needed to think about something too.

She wondered what was on his mind, and though she could have asked she doubted she had the vocabulary to fully comprehend whatever response he would give her. Instead she moved her mouth, forming without sound the words she had been practicing since he left her.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning his head to watch her.

"What?" Her eyes narrowed.

He said something further, gesturing with one hand as he did. She knew enough of his words to understand. He had been worried that the storm would break and catch them, and that was why he suggested she stay behind.

She pushed up on her elbow and lifted the candle, moving it above their heads. Then she moved closer, laying a soft kiss on his cheek.

"It's alright." She stretched back out, this time taking his hand in hers. Their fingers threaded together.

Distant thunder broke up the silence and every once in a while she would look up through her lashes and watch his thoughtful expression. At last she could take the silence no more and squeezed his hand.

"Klaus?"

Her voice startled him, making his grip on her hand momentarily tighten.

"Yes, love?"

She chewed her bottom lip, practicing the words one more time in her head before shifting and sliding her fingers around his wrist. She held his gaze as she lifted his hand to her flat stomach.

"I'm pregnant." She saw the steady rise and fall of his chest falter, betraying the surprise. Her own breath caught. She waited for him to say something, to breathe, to understand the words she knew she had gotten right.

Had she gotten them right? She had practiced them over and over and over.

Had she practiced wrong?

Had she messed up a syllable somewhere?

Had she forgotten the carefully enunciated words Bonnie taught her less than six hours before?

Had she told him she was a purple leprechaun?

He wasn't teasing her though, and if she had said something truly crazy he would have jumped at the opportunity to make her blush until she broke out in giggles.

He _was_ staring at her with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth.

"Klaus?" She pressed her lips together, swallowing heavily.

He shifted onto his side and moved his hand from her stomach. She didn't get a chance to mourn its absence before he replaced it with the other, palm spanning the width of her stomach.

"þú'st heill?" A flash of lightning illuminated his eyes.

She struggled to find a word capable of describing the emotion in his gaze, but could only come up with tentative wonder.

"Ek em heill," she said again, nodding and enunciating each word carefully.

"Heill," he breathed.

Caroline nodded again. Her mouth shifted, mirroring his smile.

A rush of joy she had spent hours suppressing swelled in her breast. It bubbled up and out of her in a rapturous laugh that cut off when he kissed her, although between her happy giggles and his broad smile it hardly counted as a kiss. Still, they persisted in exchanging them until the first drops of rain fell.

She felt the water on her hand, rolling off her skin and soaking into his shirt. Cold surrounded her when he pulled away, but he helped her up and bundled her into his arms, leading her towards the promised warmth of the hearth fire.

* * *

Torrential rainfall drummed over the roof and turned the floor nearest the doorway to slick mud that she slipped in every time she ventured too close. Occasionally the heavy winds buffeted the house and sent fat droplets of freezing water through those high vents and onto the benches below; she wiped up what she could before finally losing her patience and shutting as many of the vents as she dared, leaving only two open on either side of the roaring fire so the smoke filtered out.

The one time she had ventured near the outside was when he ran towards the small barn to check on the few animals. For the length of time he was gone she had stood at the door, squinting into the dark day, unable to spot more than the outline of the outbuilding; her favourite sight laid far beyond and out of the question, and with the wind she doubted a single orange or yellow leaf would reside on the distant mountains.

By the time he returned he had been shivering and soaked to the bone.

He had laughed through chattering teeth when told him in no uncertain terms to get out of his wet clothes, but he had obliged eagerly. That was how she found herself ringing out sodden wool and shaking her head.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, sighing. The words came in her own language as she was too annoyed to think in his, but her mood was easily read.

Dry arms snaked around her waist from behind, but the chill persisted in clinging to his skin and raising gooseflesh on hers. His cold nose brushed her jaw before he pressed a single kiss to the column of her throat and she had to force herself not to melt so she might understand the majority of the words breathed against her ear.

"I had to seal the doors." He said something else that her language skills didn't allow her to decipher.

She tossed the shirt on the bench and twisted around before it could thud, laying her hands flat on his chest. As she pushed he walked backwards, guided by her small hands towards a stool and when the back of his legs knocked the wood she slid her fingers up to his shoulders.

"You're cold as ice," she said in her sternest voice. The tone wasn't hard to achieve in the heavy syllables. "Sit," she tugged the fabric until he gave in and dropped onto the stool.

Firelight made his hair glow golden and brought a healthy pink to her hands. Her fingers tangled in his hair and combed through, gently working out knots formed by wind and rain.

His eyes drifted shut as she worked, and his hands settled on her legs; long fingers curled around the back of her thighs, matching the small circles she massaged into his scalp.

"How do you get so many…" she tilted her head, thinking back to when he taught her how to loop the string around the tent poles. What was the word he had used? "Lykkja…" she gave a soft tug on the small mess she worked on. "Knots?"

"I always have," he chuckled, turning his head to kiss her wrist.

When she spoke again it was in halting syllables as she carefully formed the words.

"I do not think… I can handle this each day." She freed the final tangle, running her fingers through his hair as she pursed her lips; amusement twinkled in her eyes. "If it understands what is good for it, our baby will have my hair."

"Our child will have your everything, love." His dimples deepened as he smiled and leaned forward until he brushed a kiss over her flat midsection.

 _Not everything,_ she bent and kissed the top of his head, _some of it comes from you._ At the very least the child had already inherited something from his mother.

"You have to warm up." She gave him a small push, urging him to sit closer to the fire. His fingers tightened, yanking her forward. Her knees bent and she fell, one leg on either side of his lap.

"I can think of a _gøra lund_ for _varmr_ up," his voice lowered to a guttural growl as he skimmed his hands over her legs and stopped at the curve of her behind. He squeezed the firm flesh through the layers of material and caught her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping gently.

An almost painful throbbing began between her legs, pulsing with each beat of her heart. The guiding hands he utilized were unnecessary when she rocked forward in search of the sweet relief she knew only friction would bring.

It wasn't enough. She tugged awkwardly at her skirts, desperate to have the fabric out of the way, but she made no headway until he offered aid and together they piled the skirt over her upper thighs. Without the linen layer of her underdress in between, the wool trousers prickled her sensitive skin, but it was no worse than his stubble. She always got a thrill when the coarse hairs scratched her thighs. After experiencing the heights of pleasure he could lift her to with just his tongue, she often wondered why such acts were banned and punishable by imprisonment where she had come from, but she couldn't believe she was to be eternally damned for enjoying it.

She quivered atop him and tried to shift closer, scratching her nails down his stomach in route to the hardness she now needed to feel inside her. She wanted him then and there, but he stopped her fingers progress with a gentle push at her wrist.

One hand at the small of her back steadied her as the other disappeared under her bunched skirt. She felt the living pulsing cold seconds before and tried to jerk away, but he made contact.

The cold bit at her, filling her hot passage in a smooth thrust.

Her mouth fell open in a soundless scream. She gripped at his shoulders and arched her back, unsure if she was trying to get away or impale herself further.

He bit at her hard nipples where they poked through the front of her dress and worked her with his hand until three icy fingers plunged in and out while his thumb found her engorged nub.

She felt his fingers warm inside of her until her walls fluttered sporadically. On the brink of bliss he took his hand away. She wanted to groan in frustration but before she had a chance he altered his arms positions, slipping the hand slick with her arousal over her hip and replacing his now warm hand with the one at her back.

The sudden shift back to cold made her arch. Her head fell forward on his shoulder as she cried his name and dug her nails into his upper back. Her thighs trembled on either side of his legs, coated now in her sticky release.

Her legs refused to hold her anymore. She slipped down to shaking knees, forcing his hands to release her as she did so and reached for his waist line. She tugged at his trousers with one hand and dipped her fingers inside, curling tightly around the base of his shaft. Thunder rumbled in the distance as she freed him from the confines and pumped up and down, jerking his hard cock the way he had shown her he liked.

As she tugged she couldn't get the voice of Leticia from her mind. The one time she had opened up about her nightly experiences had been to say that Heimir forced her to her knees and fed her his manhood until he shuddered and released in her mouth; Leticia claimed that was the act that officially told her she was nothing but a whore.

Bonnie had later told her how open these people were about sex and sexuality and about the time she had accidentally caught Kol and Elena in a compromising position that neither had felt any shame in; one that had allowed them to taste of each other at the same time.

He had never asked anything like that of her, in words or actions, but wasn't that something all men were supposed to enjoy. Prostitutes were supposedly frequented for the sole purpose of sucking cock.

And how could she not think of such things when his throbbing length was at eye level?

She found a growing curiosity as she worked him with her hand, and she decided then and there that she would satisfy it. She watched his face through her lashes as she leaned in, wanting to see his reaction.

His eyes, which had fluttered shut, flew open the moment her mouth closed over his swollen head.

Her name was a strangled cry on his lips.

Now that she had him in her mouth she was mortified to discover that she had no idea what to do next. He was supposed to go in and out though and she used that as a starting point, bobbing her head up and down. When his cock hit the back of her throat she gagged and pulled up, taking care from that point to only fit what she could and use her hands on the rest.

She knew exactly what to do with her hand, and between that and her thirst to please she worked. Listening to the soft instructions he got out between grunts: suction, lick, deeper, no teeth…

She struggled each time he hit the back of her mouth to fit more of him until she reflexively swallowed and felt the head slip into her tight throat. Her eyes bulged as he swore and his hips pushed upwards of their own accord, forcing more of him in.

"Sorry," he lowered his hips back down. Strings of saliva glistened on his shaft.

She wasn't having any of that though. Now that she knew she could take more she was determined to swallow every inch of him. She worked up and down slowly and then faster, taking more of him on each downward pass and circling his head with her tongue on each upward one until he was completely engulfed in her mouth.

She found as she continued bobbing her head up and down that she didn't mind the taste. It wasn't her favourite, but he was clearly enjoying himself so she didn't mind too much and bringing him pleasure was making her aroused again; beads of it were rolling down her thighs.

He called her name with a hint of desperation in his voice and she looked up, but the warning came too late. His cock was halfway down her throat when she felt the tell tale swelling - different while surrounded by her mouth.

The first burst went straight down her throat. The second coated her tongue as she pulled back. The third and forth flooded her open mouth and the last of his semen spattered over her face.

She rolled the warmth over her tongue, contemplating the salty taste she hadn't encountered since the first time. Like then, she swallowed it down and even parted her lips for his thumb when he wiped the mess from her face.

"How was that?" She sucked on his thumb.

"Amazing."

She squealed when he stood, yanking her up into his arms and carrying her in the direction of their bed.

* * *

Katerina flexed her dry fingers and set the wooden combs on her skirt, allowing her stiff hands a well earned break before she could succeed in working them to the bone.

Her eyes rose to Rebekah when her sister-in-law held back a painful grunt. She surveyed the thin fingers and found more than one crimson crack in her alabaster skin.

"Perhaps a break?" She suggested, gently working the straightened wool fibres from her comb.

"I've hardly done half the work you have completed," Rebekah said, shaking her head. "I'll never hope to catch a decent bride price if I can't produce at least the average amount of cloth."

"If you don't set the combs down for a bit then you won't have to dye that wool." Katerina rolled her eyes, nearly laughing at the dryness in her own voice. "Besides, if they can get around your father and older brothers they won't care how much cloth you can make."

Rebekah wrinkled her nose and tossed the combs into a basket, slumping against the bench as she did so with a long suffering groan. "I'm going to die an old maid."

"With withered hands," she smirked.

"Aren't you supposed to defend me?" Rebekah grumbled, reaching into the small bag at her belt for a jar of beeswax. She rubbed a generous amount onto her hands, spreading it thickly over her broken skin.

"Do you want me to talk to your brother and get them all to permit a suit?"

"That would be wonderful," Rebekah winced, glaring through narrow eyes at a particularly long crack in the crease of her finger that stung beneath the cold cream. "They really overdid it last year with Leif and now no one will even consider me."

"Have you forgotten which sister you speak to, Rebekah?" Katerina arched a smooth brow. "I had thought such instances of mistaken identity were over now that they reside in another house."

"I suppose that means you won't speak to Elijah," she sighed. "And there is no mistaking you for Elena, Katerina, not after a moment of conversing."

"Even if I did speak to him, he would never listen to me," she picked up a chunk of wool and placed it on one comb, "at least not about this. You are their little sister, and they will protect you from any potential harm they see."

"Freya never receives this kind of treatment," Rebekah crossed her arms, feeling the beginning of a pout forcing her bottom lip forwards.

"Probably because not many men are eager to marry a witch," she said, gritting her teeth and yanking hard on the combs. Wool fibres stretched and straightened with each pass back and forth.

"How are you still working?" Inadequacy bloomed in her breast. For a moment she felt all of four years old again, when the combs had barely fit in her hands and her sister guided her movements; Freya had been the one completing the actual work then, with a child's hands acting as hindrance.

"I have to do something," she jerked her elbow back, nearly hitting the thin wall by the bench. "If I stop working too long I will remember that I am confined to the house, and I have never done well with the idea of being trapped."

Rebekah leaned forward and patted Katerina's shoulder, knowing how she tended to get when held in one place too long. The urge to run and breathe and taste freedom would overwhelm her to the point that Elijah would only get her inside again when she inevitably fell asleep.

"I'm certain the rain will let up soon."

* * *

"Are you distracted Elena?" Bonnie's quiet voice broke her from her revery and she twisted her head around, stilling her hands as she did.

"Not at all," a tight smile flitted across her face. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you just wove red into a white stripe," Bonnie tilted her head and raised her brows, angling a pointed look to the loom where a new sail stretched across the frame.

Elena turned back and shut her eyes upon seeing the mess of heavy wool pulled tight in the wrong place. Tears stung her eyes; it would have to be worked loose thread by thread.

"Perhaps you should let me take over," she suggested, gently prying the tapestry needle from her fingers.

"I can do this," Elena protested in a strained voice. She tasted salt on her lips and fought down a hysterical sob.

"But you hate weaving?" Bonnie frowned.

"Not as much as I hate being completely useless." Elena's shoulders slumped.

"You're not completely useless." Bonnie slid onto the bench and nudged her elbow. Her tone took on a teasing note as she lifted her fingers and started to work the threads backwards with magic: "you're just useless at weaving."

She snorted, feeling a smile reluctantly lifting her lips. "You're very cheeky for your position," she shook her head.

"You need someone to be cheeky with you," Bonnie said, laughing softly. "Besides, I don't think I would be able to keep up with the pair of you if I were anything else."

"Kol does like pretty little things with sharp tongues," Elena said, rolling her eyes.

"Does that mean you think I'm pretty?" Bonnie tracked the threads movement with her eyes, tracing the path with her fingers.

Elena wiped at her cheek with one hand and brushed against Bonnie with her shoulder. Her wet eyes sparkled as she spoke. "If I wasn't completely convinced about how much my husband loves me I might see you as a threat."

"Then I'm happy you're convinced," she said, grinning suddenly as the stripe returned to its proper state. "I would hate to be on the wrong side of your sword."

Kol returned to the house at that moment after catching the end of their conversation. He pulled off his wet shirt as he crossed the room, dropping it on the stones by the hearth as he went.

"That will never happen, Bonnie," he came up behind Elena, placing his hands on her shoulders. "She'd come after me with a sword first," he teased.

"It would be a knife actually, and don't worry my love, you'd live through it," she teased right back and shivered, looking up through her lashes. "You're freezing."

"The rain is cold, my darling," he chuckled, bending to brush an icy kiss over her cheek. "Would you like to help me warm up since you are the only one I ever want for such activities?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I thought I wasn't cleared for such activities," she tipped her head back, watching him from upside down.

Bonnie focused on the loom. After a year she had stopped blushing at such talk and after her embarrassment upon finding them together the first time they had been more considerate about engaging in their marital activities in places she wouldn't find them; usually by mentioning such activities in her vicinity so she knew not to go looking for them. That hadn't stopped her from catching them outside a few times back in the spring.

"I can think of few indoor activities that you truly enjoy," Kol continued, oblivious to Bonnie's thought process. He kissed a soft line over her cheek and down her throat until his teeth scraped over her shoulder and a different shiver traveled down her spine. "You've said repeatedly that you feel much better. I can take a look and clear you right now."

Elena swallowed and shut her eyes, tilting her head to give him unrestricted access to her throat. Her pulse quickened, spreading heat through her body from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. He could examine her, approve amorous activities and proceed to bring her pleasure that would be heard in his father's house, but first he would have to thoroughly examine her stomach.

"I… I… I…" She whimpered when he nipped the spot below her ear, making it increasingly hard to think. She might have lost her train of thought altogether if not for the hands that snaked around her waist and flattened over her stomach close to the wound.

Too close.

She jerked out of his arms and stood abruptly, slowly turning to see his shocked expression. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she fought to regain control of her breathing.

"I'm…" she swallowed and tried again, lowering her eyes as she spoke softly before either of them could say a word. "Its getting late and I'm… tired," her voice rang false to her own ears.

She spun on her heel towards the bedroom, leaving them both gaping after her.

Kol's eyes darted to Bonnie when the door shut.

"Did I misread that situation?" He frowned, feeling gooseflesh rise on his arms.

"How should I know?" She picked up the correct needle and began weaving the yarn into the cloth.

"You could see her face."

"No," Bonnie sighed, letting the needle drop. She thought of the way Elena had leaned back and moved with him, motions dictated by the same desire that made her bite her bottom lip and whimper. "No, I don't think you misread that. Something has been bothering her."

"I know," he snapped and then lowered his eyes. "Sorry. I've been a little frustrated."

"I gathered," she nodded, picking up the needle again.

"Did she say something to you?" He glanced towards the bedroom door. "I know that something has been bothering her for a while but she hasn't told me, and I can't help her until I know what it is."

"She hasn't spoken to me about it," Bonnie worried her bottom lip. "And she seemed fine until…"

"Until what?" His eyes narrowed.

Bonnie fiddled with the long needle, running the thread between her fingers. She stole glances towards the door before meeting his eyes.

"Until you touched her stomach."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Please drop a review and tell me what you thought.
> 
> Do you have any theories?
> 
> Or will the next chapter shock you all?
> 
> AN Seasonal: Currently it's late summer/early autumn. The leaves are changing, the days are growing shorter and a   
> late summer storm has hit the area.
> 
> AN Familial: Vikings typically all lived in the same household to the point where a single household could have near a hundred individuals once you included family, servants, slaves and the families of servants and slaves. For the purposes of this story I chose to have Klaus and Kol outside of the main village. In Klaus' case it's because he hates his father and wants to spend as little time in Mikael's presence as possible. For Kol and Elena the choice to begin their own household had a lot to do with a few mixups in the early days of their marriage when Elijah or Kol would go to greet their wife only to accidentally wrap their arms around, or kiss the cheek of, their sister-in-law. In a smoky house it was easy to mix them up, especially if Elena was wearing a dress rather than trousers. Elena and Katerina always laughed when their husbands would turn bright red.


	10. Chapter 10

Caroline hummed contentedly, completely sated for the time being and unwilling to move her weightless limbs from her position, but she knew she needed to unbend her elbow before it permanently locked in place so she shifted just enough until she lay comfortably positioned on her side.

Exhaustion caught up to her and for a moment she nodded off, coming to when stubble scratched her shoulder.

Her eyelashes fluttered; she looked down to the strong hand splayed over her stomach. His fingers danced and drew patterns across the taut skin. She envisioned her body steadily growing round with their child, stretching to accommodate the life inside and leaving marks that would never go away. She knew she would be self-conscious about them, but right then she was anxious to see the first.

The deliberate movements and the grin she felt against her shoulder betrayed him as being awake. Her own smile threatened to break her face in two.

Would it be a girl as golden and fair as them? Would it be a boy, raised with the morals of his father and uncle?

He must want sons; all men wanted sons. Before the village was invaded she had been destined to bring sons into the world and take care of the house, but her main duty was to deliver sons; they were always valued over daughters.

She sensed his smile falter and covered his hand with hers.

"Is something wrong?" She whispered, rubbing her palm over his knuckles.

"Thinking," he murmured, kissing her shoulder.

"Thinking?" She prompted, unable to remember the words for a full question.

"About my father." Klaus stilled his hand. "He was not a great father."

He rolled onto his back and Caroline felt a rush of cold across her stomach flowing after his retreat.

She turned over until she lay on her stomach and reached up to trace his jaw with her fingertips. The happy gleam from his eyes and the broad smile from his lips had disappeared, replaced with a hollow expression.

"Klaus," she propped her chin on his chest lightly and started tracing the old scars over his ribs, "what is it?" Her fingers found a jagged line.

His hand darted, quick as a snake, and grasped her wrist.

She gasped at the sudden movement, but didn't try to pull away as he directed her fingers to trace the jagged line. From there he moved her hand along a few other lines, some thin and some thick, until together they covered close to half of the marks covering his torso.

"My father," he breathed, staring at their joined hands, "did this."

Her eyes widened in horror. She hoped that she had heard him wrong, misunderstood his words, but she knew instinctively that she hadn't.

Mikael had left the worst of the scars across his body.

And she highly doubted his father was always on his mind.

Mikael invaded his thoughts when he caressed her stomach. Mikael chased the joy from his heart when he covered their baby.

She reclaimed her wrist and covered his heart as she rose up. When he wouldn't meet her eyes she slid her fingers higher, cupping his jaw. She strung the words together in her mind while her thumb rubbed his cheekbone and the fine line a shade lighter than his skin.

Had Mikael caused the scar that ran from the middle of his eyebrow and over his cheek?

Her blood boiled at the thought of him potentially blinding his son.

His hand trembled on her hip, carefully prodding her stomach with his thumb. She realized suddenly what the problem was and sharpened her tone to get his attention.

The way she said his name made his eyes snap to hers. Her expression softened then.

"You are not him."

"Caroline…"

"No," she cut off his protest with a quick kiss, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "No; you're not him."

His smile started to return slowly and she fully expected some of the earlier happiness to enter his eyes, but when they flashed it wasn't with emotion.

The grey blue shifted in the dim light, gleaming black and gold. The sudden change in colour so drastic that she sat up and reached for the candle. Before her fingers could curl around the wax base a horrible crack made her jump.

He jerked violently, arching his back, knee striking her thigh.

Caroline gave a short shriek as she fell off the bed.

Bones cracked and popped and above the terrible sound she heard his scream of agony.

"Klaus!" She circled around the foot of the bed, tripping on the chest. She narrowly avoided his body as it crashed to the floor. His spine arched and popped; she could do nothing but watch the muscles ripple in his shoulders with mounting horror.

Whatever gripped him paused for a moment before taking hold again.

"What's happening?" She sobbed, forgetting everything she had learned of his language. "Klaus?"

His eyes shifted colours as he looked up, but words failed him; she saw her fear reflected there.

Something was very, very wrong, and she didn't know what to do.

She scrambled to her feet, grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find and raced for the door.

"Caroline…" he broke off in a scream.

She nearly ran back, but the sight of his arms fighting to pull from their sockets steeled her resolve and she yanked the fabric over her head. A tear streaked down her cheek as she apologized and said the one word she hoped was right.

* * *

She hugged her pillow tight beneath her head, ignoring the sharp edge of a feather poking her cheek. Her nails grasped at another, working it free of the casing; she twisted it between her fingers close to her face so the soft end occasionally tickled her nose.

Behind her back the door dragged across the floor.

She dropped the feather and stilled, squeezing her eyes shut.

He prepared for sleep, light steps moved around their bedroom so quietly she could hardly hear him over the pounding rain. Taught in childhood how to place his feet for silent hunting it had become second nature to the point where Elena used to laugh because Bonnie, nearly a foot shorter and built like a sprite, made more noise.

She used to laugh. She might still have laughed if she were in a better mood, but a bitterness had descended over her shoulders.

The bed dipped, accommodating his weight as he stretched out behind her. He adjusted the blankets.

Cupping her elbow, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

Her entire body clenched in response. She caught her breath and resisted the urge to cry as he pulled away. Pressure built up behind her eyes, growing heavier the longer he remained silent.

Thunder rumbled outside and lightning flashed white beyond the walls.

"How did we get to this?" He whispered, voice nearly drowned out by the storm.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Somewhere water dripped; that would have to be repaired before snow fell.

"How did we get to what?" She held her elbows. From the corner of her eye she saw his pensive face illuminated in a flash of lightning.

"How did we get to the point where you pretend to be asleep to avoid me, and flinch at my touch?" He turned his head to watch her. "How did we get to the point where you won't tell me when something's bothering you?"

"Nothing…"

"Please don't lie to me darling," he smiled sadly. "I know when something's bothering you, and I know now that it has something to do with your injury. Does it still hurt? Is that the problem."

"No," she closed her eyes. A single tear fell into her hair. "At least… at least not a lot."

"Then it does hurt?" Kol asked, propping up on his elbow. The candles flared to life in every corner of the room, casting an orange glow across her skin. He pulled away the furs and reached for her shift.

"No," she said, snatching his wrist. "It's just a little pull. You don't need to look at it."

"If you're in pain then I need to see." He twisted free from her grip.

"It's fine."

"Elena…"

"I said it's fine." She sat up straight, moving away.

"Will you just…" He grabbed at her hips.

"No," she pushed his hands, cheeks flushing.

"I can help."

"No," she snapped. "I don't want you too."

He froze and she fell silent, pressing her lips into a thin line, but her chin trembled. Her wet eyelashes fluttered, glinting in the light.

"Why not?" He cupped her cheek and leaned closer, gently stroking her face. She sniffled and focused her eyes on his jaw.

"It's hideous," she bit her cheek.

"What?" His eyes narrowed, for a moment he wasn't certain he had heard correctly. A dozen fine marks littered her body from a dozen battles, marks she took complete pride in. Never in the time he had known her had she shied away from him because of how something looked.

"It didn't… its…"

"Darling," he slid his hand down, tipping up her chin, "since when does my fearless Shield Maiden care about a scar?"

"Since this one's ugly," she shook her head.

"Nothing about you could ever be ugly," he whispered, reaching for the strings at her throat.

"Kol," she blinked and a tear trickled over her cheek.

The material came loose and shifted catching on her arms. He worked the shirt down and off until it pooled around her waist. Cold air swirled around her upper body, pebbling her nipples, but his eyes remained on her face as she crossed her arms over her belly.

"Kol, please…"

He reached for her wrists, carefully moving them to her sides and urging her to lay back.

"I don't want you to hide from me, not ever."

* * *

She burst from the house in a flurry of golden hair and white linen; both whipped around her body as she ran blindly in the direction of the river and veered where she knew the path to be.

The cold became irrelevant the further she ran, each step sending jolts up her legs.

She pushed her body to her limits, running faster than she ever had. Her lungs burned and her bare feet were numb by the time she lost sight of the road, but she knew the path from days of walking it; it was a straight dirt road with minimal turns.

She raced faster under the flashes of lightning.

* * *

"Does this hurt?" Kol's fingers danced over her stomach, lightly tracing the jagged line. The skin around it puckered and stretched, leaving thin white lines running along either side.

"Does my pride count?" She stared steadfastly at the ceiling.

"I was looking for physical pain right now," he chuckled.

"The baby's getting bigger," she blinked, glancing at him.

"I can see that," his eyes sparkled, shining with happiness. "Is it causing you pain?" His mouth turned down.

"A little at first," she shrugged, working her jaw. "It might when I get bigger."

"I can make an ointment for that," he caressed her stomach.

"Can you make one to get rid of the scar?" She blinked fast.

"It might fade a bit," he nodded, "but you'll always have it."

"Great," her voice cracked. A fresh wave of tears flooded her eyes.

"Don't cry love."

"It's… it's…" the word 'hideous' stuck in her throat.

Kol shifted on the bed and hovered over her stomach.

"It's beautiful," he kissed the top of her scar, softly brushing his lips over her skin. He followed the line from under her breast to her hip, glancing up after each gentle kiss to catch her eyes.

"Don't lie to me," she swallowed.

"I'm not." He worked his way back up, moving between her breasts as he did until he reached her jaw. "This scar," his fingers danced over the skin, "is a reminder that you survived. You came back from the brink of death, my love."

He met her eyes.

"What about the stretch marks?" She shook her head.

"You're both survivors, fighters," he kissed the tip of her nose, "you kept yourself and our child alive. Every mark you bare shows just how strong you are. Strong and beautiful."

"You're not disgusted by it?" Her lip trembled.

"Never," he swore. The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I might be a little when you give birth, but that'll be because of the mess."

"Neat freak," she laughed, tossing her head back. A few tears leaked out. "You're still in the room."

"Of course I will be," he laughed softly. "Only death could keep me away."

"It better not keep you away," she pushed up on an elbow. She slipped one hand around his neck, playing with the hair at the back of his head and chewing her bottom lip; her cheeks flushed a light pink. "Are you still cold?"

"Now that you mention it, I am a little chilly." His warm fingers splayed across her ribs. He met her halfway in a kiss, parting his lips for the sweep of her tongue.

His heart pounded in his ears erratically and it took him a moment before he realized that the pounding came from the main room of the house.

"Do you hear that?" He broke away, breathing against her lips.

* * *

Something about spending the day indoors always left her more exhausted than one outside. The tasks were nowhere near as physically demanding as those she would have partaken in under the open sky, but by the end of an evening spent knitting, weaving or preparing spells she could barely keep her eyes open.

It might have been the dark or the smoke, or it might have been a strong, unfulfilled, desire to see the sun and feel it warm her skin.

She was always exhausted, but that night she wasn't asleep.

She lay on her bed, curled beneath her blankets, and watched the flames long after Kol followed Elena to bed. And when the fire dipped dangerously low she poked her fingers out and directed a fresh log into the hearth.

Unable to get comfortable, she shifted in place and glanced at the line of light under the bedroom door. Low voices drifted out, too quiet for her to make out their words. That was good, she thought, because if their voices were low he had to be making progress; she had to be opening up.

That, or he had lost his nerve.

She hugged her blankets closer, shivering and clutching at the material; she hoped for the first scenario. She would hate to see their marriage devolve into one similar to his parents.

Thunder rumbled outside in a quick succession: thunder, lightning, thunder, lightning.

Bang, flash, bang, flash, flash, bang.

Bonnie jumped when she realized that the banging was closer that it should have been. She shot up, eyes snapping to the door as it shuddered and warped, vibrating in the frame.

Her heart thudded in her chest. She fought through the exhaustion and stumbled in her bare feet, lifting the bolt with a wave of her hand.

The wood swung inwards before she could reach it, propelled by the force of a fist. Bonnie stepped out of the way, reaching to steady the woman who fell inside.

"Caroline?"

"What's going on out here?"

Bonnie's eyes flitted from Kol's face to Elena beside him and finally back to Caroline.

The blonde took heaving breaths and pushed her soaked hair from her face, gesturing wildly with her other hand as she did so. The words that emerged were an unintelligible wheeze, and while Bonnie instructed her to calm down they all took a moment to really look at her.

They took in the mud splattered halfway up her legs, and the clinging white linen that could only be Klaus' shirt. Some of the filth around her feet glistened with crimson, betraying more than one cut on the soles.

Kol moved towards a shelf for healing gel.

"You need to sit down," Bonnie said, trying and failing to pull her into the house.

"No, nei," Caroline gasped. The words that fell from her mouth came in a jumbled mix as she tried at first to direct them to Kol, but made absolutely no sense.

Elena stepped up to Caroline's other side and gently took her arm, rubbing one hand between her shoulders.

Caroline's wide eyes darted around the room. She stammered and gasped, and after a moment finally relayed the message to Bonnie whose eyes bulged in response.

"What did she say about Klaus?" Elena's gaze flickered to her husband and back to Bonnie.

"He's hurt…" Caroline pulled away from both of them and bolted back towards the door, cutting off Bonnie for a moment with a sentence that ran together. "And we need to help."

* * *

Kol had taken Bonnie and ridden ahead, uselessly instructing Caroline to remain behind with Elena. They weren't gone five minutes when she started back down the path after them; luckily, Elena recognized a lost battle when she saw one and saddled the second horse.

By the time they reached the house Bonnie stood outside of the stable casting some type of spell while Kol held the door to the house shut and shouted instructions over his shoulder.

Caroline didn't get a chance to ask before everyone piled into the stables.

"What's going on?" She fought against Elena's hold. "Why aren't you helping him?" She shrieked the questions again and again, watching as Kol abandoned his post.

He sprinted towards them, fumbling for Bonnie's hands when he was inside.

Caroline's questions cut off as a new sound rose up over the rolling thunder. For one desperate moment she thought the wind howled around the house, but then the door splintered and something that was most definitely not Klaus bolted out.

She watched with mounting horror as the dark shape darted towards the stable, not bothering to stifle her shriek when a flash of lightning revealed sharp teeth.

The dark shape stopped short, slamming into the open door without entering the stable.

Kol abruptly stopped chanting and dropped Bonnie's hands, slamming the door shut as he did, but that didn't put a halt to the sounds.

The animals inside pawed at the ground and reared back, attempting to put as much distance between them and the door as they could. Over the snorts and squeals and heavy breaths came a low growling that set the tiny hairs on the back of her neck on edge.

A chill that had nothing to do with cold swarmed over Caroline's jiggling legs. She crossed her arms and focused on Kol, putting as much vehemence behind her words as she could; it was no easy task as she struggled to pronounce through her jittering teeth.

"What was that thing? Where's Klaus?" Her brows rose up as her heart pounded. She tasted fear on the tip of her tongue; hysteria twisted in her lungs. "What if it hurts him?"

Kol glanced at Bonnie and over to his wife's wide eyes. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and swallowed, jumping slightly at the sound of nails scrabbling over wood.

"You need not worry about him, Caroline-"

"He's out there," she said, stomach churning violently.

"He's in no danger."

"Kol," Elena rubbed Caroline's upper arms.

"Why not?" Elena's question came too fast for Caroline to catch, but she suspected her own question was a simpler echo.

"Because," he whispered around a shaking breath, glancing again to the door. A flash of lightning illuminated the shock in his eyes.

"Because it is Nik."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Language learning. When fully immersed in a language as Caroline is it should take 48 days to learn easier languages and 72 days to learn a more difficult language and achieve basic fluency. This is assuming that 10 hours a day are devoted to language learning. Since during the journey Klaus and Elena were the only ones really talking to her she had the minimum practice for the first month or so, but in the weeks since they returned to Klaus' home she has had more opportunity to practice with both Klaus and Bonnie in an immersed environment. So that's halfway through those 48 days when added to everything she would have picked up on the journey. Plus Caroline is one of the most driven people out there, so you know she's practicing even when nobody is around to converse with. I'd say at this point she is halfway to being fluent and within a month will have the language down. At least as far as daily conversation goes.
> 
> Seasonal: Currently it's late summer/early autumn. The leaves are changing, the days are growing shorter and a late summer storm has hit the area.
> 
> Familial: Vikings typically all lived in the same household to the point where a single household could have near a hundred individuals once you included family, servants, slaves and the families of servants and slaves. For the purposes of this story I chose to have Klaus and Kol outside of the main village. In Klaus' case it's because he hates his father and wants to spend as little time in Mikael's presence as possible. For Kol and Elena the choice to begin their own household had a lot to do with a few mixups in the early days of their marriage when Elijah or Kol would go to greet their wife only to accidentally wrap their arms around, or kiss the cheek of, their sister-in-law. In a smoky house it was easy to mix them up, especially if Elena was wearing a dress rather than trousers. Elena and Katerina always laughed when their husbands would turn bright red.
> 
> On Children: Vikings didn't give a damn about a baby's gender. Gender was something decided by the gods. All they cared about was that their children were healthy.


	11. Chapter 11

**I do not own TVD or TO.**

* * *

Caroline huddled on the bench, hugging her knees to her chest. After months of cleanliness a small part of her brain shuddered to see the filth caked over her feet and legs, but the vast majority of her concentration lay in the middle of the house.

After a sleepless night filled with terrible yowls the beast who had tormented them retreated. Growling gave way to horrible shrieks; the sounds of pain and panic brought each of them out of the stables. And Caroline, who hated being told what to do, bristled when Kol instructed them to stay put; he couldn't grab her fast enough and she had run into the house in time to see.

And see she had. She saw the body of a wolf painfully contort, fur receding as it changed until all that remained was his unconscious form.

He lay prone by the hearth, naked but for the blanket Kol had covered him with. A layer of sweat and dirt clung to his otherwise healthy skin.

_"We saw him change," Bonnie translated for the shaken Caroline._

Change… she hugged her knees tighter, listening to the sounds of Kol and Elena outside. People didn't change into animals; it was physically impossible. But hadn't she watched him change back?

Her sleep deprived mind struggled to make sense of everything - to equate the wolf with the man she knew and trusted.

Could he have known?

Kol had said he couldn't have, that nobody could have. Well… Bonnie had translated for him. They called it a curse, an affliction of the blood. And through Bonnie he relayed a story from before he was born, the tale of how their entire town packed up and moved to where they now resided because of men who transformed into beasts beneath the full moon. The journey had lasted long enough that Klaus was born during it, and Kol had entered the world days after his father's house was completed.

* * *

Elena kicked at the ground. The vicious motion disrupted a small number of paw prints. It wasn't much, but it was a start. She expected the full job would take the better part of the morning and her legs trembled, eager for a short break.

She kicked harder. A stone dislodged from the mud, dinging the bowed wall. The horses inside snorted and she stared at the tiny dent and jagged splinters.

Kol looked up, pausing from his own patch of dirt.

"Elena?"

Her hands lifted, curling tight around her elbows. The added pressure did nothing to ease the ache in her stomach; it twisted and churned, and for a moment she feared a sudden and violent return to morning sickness.

He hurried over and reached out. His hands turned her, pulling her into the circle of his arms.

"Just breathe, darling," he murmured, rubbing her shoulders.

Her forehead dropped to his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a shaking breath, exhaling slowly. When she found her voice it came out in a broken whisper.

"I don't understand." She let go of her arms and clung to his shirt. She had spent years surrounded by magic, feeling its energy pulse around her through the people she knew and loved, but this was new. "I… I… what happened?"

"You've heard the stories, Elena," he closed his eyes.

"I've heard tales of men who turn into beasts," she shook her head, desperation shone in her bright eyes. "How did this happen? How did nobody know? Why him?"

Before he could answer she heard the sound of hooves fast approaching. His arms stiffened around her even as his eyes darted frantically around the yard. Dozens of prints, overturned tables and displaced tools betrayed the chaos of the night.

His sudden fear surprised her. She found it contagious.

"Kol?" Her heart hammered in her chest. Near the house Bonnie stilled from stomping at her own patch of paw prints.

The horse galloped into the yard, coming to a sudden stop. Elena's heart stuttered and calmed as Elijah swung down from the saddle.

"What are you doing out here?" His eyes took in their mud caked shoes and hastily thrown on clothes. "I was worried sick when nobody was home."

"Morning, Elijah," Kol cleared his throat.

Elena's eyes darted from brother to brother. She attempted to keep her movements slow and casual as she scuffed her foot along the ground, but Elijah caught the motion and looked down and she knew the moment he saw what they had started to hide.

"We heard it in the village." His brows lowered. "Mother claimed the howling came from the wind."

"The wind was rather loud," Kol said, keeping one hand on the small of her back.

"Strong enough to take down trees," Bonnie supplied, pointing beyond the stables for evidence. An oak's branches hung low over the roof.

"And I suppose the wind was also responsible for wolf tracks?" Elijah arched an eyebrow. "Why are you trying to hide them?"

Elena chewed her bottom lip.

"You know how father would react to this mess," Kol shrugged.

"He would hunt the beast down, and for good reason."

Elena shivered.

"You've only heard the stories, but I remember the fear of being forced to hide. Freya still remembers the bodies of the dead, mutilated beyond recognition. They transform and they kill. And now they've followed us here. So tell me, why, after hearing every recounting, you would conceal that which could lead back to the wolf?"

Kol considered for a moment, remembering the many times Elijah had attempted to speak back, and the more numerous occasions of tending to the worst of the wounds. If anyone would keep the secret, aside from Rebekah, it would be him, so he took in a deep breath and made a leap.

"We are hiding the tracks for the same reason that you're about to help us," he nodded to Bonnie, a silent instruction to continue. He answered the derisive snort with a challenging eyebrow and a tight smirk - knowing his next words would seal Elijah's aid. "You're going to help us because it's Nik."

* * *

His shoulders rose and fell with uneven breaths. The pained breaths were the only sign of actual life he emitted.

She unfolded her legs and rose from the bench, arching her spine as she did to ease the ache in her lower back. It persisted as she tiptoed closer. Along the short path she paused to right the stools around the hearth; she knelt when she did, falling to her knees on the packed dirt floor.

She reached with trembling fingers, gingerly touching the centre of a single print. Razor sharp fangs flashed in her mind as she traced the paw's indentation; she almost missed the sharp intake of breath, but it would have been impossible not to see the way he stretched or hear the way he groaned.

He came awake slowly, as he always did, blinking away the vestiges of sleep. And though he was no stranger to resting in other places aside from a bed, the hard floor definitely contributed to his swift return to awareness.

She knew what he saw when his eyes rolled around the room because she had seen it too. She had taken in the chaos that had once been her perfectly organized space. The remnants of paint stained the logs scattered across the floor. And she didn't know how she would work up the nerve to approach the shelf of shattered and splintered tableware; replacements were not a problem, especially with the way he carved nightly, but she couldn't wrap her mind around how he had broken them in the first place.

Then there was every piece of toppled furniture, and probably more tracks that she had yet to notice.

His eyes found her.

She held her breath, resisting the urge to reach up and pat down her hair. She held her breath and she watched him slowly sit up.

He looked her over slowly, taking in the dirt and sweat and fearful eyes.

And she tried not to do it. She really tried, but when his gravelly voice called her name she flinched. And then she felt terrible for it when a hurt confusion clouded his blue eyes.

He sat up, groaning as he did; the blanket slipped down around his hips.

Another image flashed behind her eyes; one of him contorted in agony as his body went through what she now knew to be a transformation. From what she had seen before racing for aid it was a painful process.

His muscles ached, spasms gripping him every time he attempted to move. He tried to remember what had happened and came up with Caroline's fear filled gaze before she ran from the house. He thought she might have said something, and he had a suspicion he had seen Kol at some point but everything was blurry, distorted.

The harder he thought about it the clearer the images became.

Caroline forced herself to stay still as he shifted into a sitting position, flattening her palm on the floor by the print. His eyes fell to her fingers and then the paw print.

Tentatively he reached out to touch it, fingers grazing her hand.

Realization dawned in his eyes, followed swiftly by fear, revulsion, and something she never wanted to see on his face again: self-loathing.

Her fingers curled, catching dirt under her nails. The addition of a tiny pebble grounded her in the room. It was real. It had happened.

For a brief moment the terror that had gripped her heart crossed her face.

"Caroline," he whispered, eyes wide. The broken sound pulled her from her revery and the memory of ravenous hunger in his lupine eyes.

She blinked slowly, taking in the wary expectation in the curve of his mouth. What was he waiting for? Did he expect her to run?

She was physically capable of it now. She hadn't been at first, and then she had been unwilling to after for fear of someone far worse catching her. Before being taken, before spending time with him, she would have bolted, screaming bloody murder, after the night she had experienced.

Was she going to run?

She didn't feel that itch in her feet urging her to flee. What she did feel was a strong desire to ease the obvious aches beneath his skin and smooth the crinkle from his brow.

What did that say about her?

She shifted on her knees and he hung his head. She cringed at the sight of her dirty hands but lifted them anyway, cupping his face to lift his chin.

She pulled him towards her, gently smoothing her fingers through his hair, and shifted to meet him halfway. With his head against her shoulder she stroked the back of his neck, and though her stomach trembled her voice was steady with a fierce conviction.

"I'm not going anywhere." The soothing repetition eventually broke through his subconscious and he wrapped his arms around her waist, clinging to her. She felt his desperation in the strong fingers that gripped her borrowed shirt.

A thousand insects crawled under his skin, giving still muscles the impression of being alive. She dug her fingers into a particularly busy swarm and massaged until his shoulder no longer rippled. Her hand roamed lower, working out the tense spots when she found them.

He was ready to break, she could feel it in the way he pressed closer to her chest, but before he could do anything the sun lit up the interior of the house.

She let him go to shield her eyes and turned, squinting at the figure that towered in the door frame.

"Fanken." Elijah breathed a word Caroline didn't recognize.

He took in the disarray, made infinitely worse in the light, with wide eyes and repeated himself with a level of horrified awe in his tone, lending a degree of understanding. He snapped out of whatever shock had taken hold of him then, jumping forward to action.

"Get up," he curled his hand around her elbow. A low growl made them both jump and turn their gazes to Klaus who appeared as equally surprised as them.

Elijah tightened his hold, making Caroline wince. The next thing she knew Klaus stood beside her and she found herself caught between the brothers, watching a strangely possessive light flare behind his blue eyes. It took her a moment to recognize it and place a similar experience, but she called up the memory of the man who had pushed her and nearly suffered Klaus' wrath.

"Control yourself," Elijah placed a hand on Klaus' bare chest, refusing to be intimidated by his little brother. He noticed that Klaus' glower was not directed at the restraint, but at the fingers curled around her slim arm. He let go and spoke with deliberate slowness to her.

"Caroline, go outside and get cleaned up while I speak with my brother."

She understood enough of the directive and felt filthy enough to warrant a full bath, but she hesitated to leave so soon after swearing she would stay. Her trepidation must have shown on her features because when Elijah turned to find out why he could still feel her presence his expression softened and he sighed.

Underlying urgency strained his voice, belaying the importance of his words. She recognized 'Bonnie' and 'explain', having heard them often enough when she failed to understand something.

She glanced at Elijah and then fixed her gaze on Klaus before murmuring that she would be right outside. As she retreated she stole glances over her shoulder, watching the conversation she could no longer hear.

Outside the autumn sun warmed her body, but a chill still lingered deep in her bones. She closed her eyes and turned her head up in the hopes that she could soak in what little heat hung in the air.

"Caroline," a small hand curled around her wrist, "come on. You have to clean up."

"Why?" She cracked open an eye. Just because she wanted to be clean didn't mean she had to bathe at that moment in time.

"Because we don't have much time."

From the corner of her eye she saw Kol's head bent close to Elena; he whispered fast and she felt herself leaning towards them.

"I'll explain at the river."

Caroline allowed herself to be pulled away, catching a glimpse of a quick kiss between the couple; Kol disappeared into the house while Elena jogged to catch up. The brunette had to be exhausted; she suspected it was the most she had done since recovering from her wounds.

They didn't stop moving until Caroline's bare feet plunged into the water and needles stabbed at her skin, making her toes burn. She pulled up short, yanking her wrist from Bonnie's grasp with a mumbled curse. Elena's strong hands at her back put a stop to the hasty retreat she had half planned.

"What was wrong with the hot springs?" She whimpered, hating the whine in her voice, but damn it if she hadn't had a long night. Was it too much to ask for a hot bath?

"You can make the trip later," Bonnie pulled her forwards, shivering as the water swirled higher around her own legs. "Right now we don't have time. You need to be clean, and everything must appear normal before Mikael gets here."

"Mikael's coming?" Caroline shifted from foot to foot. The mere thought of plunging her hands into the river made her shiver. How was she meant to appear normal if her fingers turned blue? "Why is Mikael coming?"

"They heard a wolf howling last night," Bonnie crouched, "he's coming to investigate. And if he learns what happened here Elijah and Kol say it will be very bad."

"But why?" Caroline winced as Bonnie set to scrubbing at her legs, but it was Elena who answered; she tore a strip from her shift and dipped it into the water.

"Because," Elena used the cloth to wipe the dirt streaks from her face, "Mikael will…" She chewed her bottom lip, struggling to find the right word in a language she was still learning. When she couldn't she used her own words accompanied by a jabbing motion towards her own chest. "Mikael will _bana_ him."

"Bana?" Caroline repeated rather numbly, turning her head from one woman to the other for explanation. The cold water made her feel lethargic.

Bonnie's fingers worked a streak of mud from her kneecap and Caroline wondered if it was really necessary. It wasn't like Mikael was going to see her bare legs. But she supposed feeling normal would help her act normal.

"Bana means kill," Bonnie looked up through her lashes.

"Kill?" Her voice rose to a shriek. She forced her tone to lower and directed her questions to Bonnie. "Why would he do that? Why would Mikael want to kill his own son?"

"Because of what he is," Bonnie tore a strip of cloth from her skirt, rising up to work away at Caroline's arms and hands. "Because of what he turned into last night."

"But he couldn't help that," she shook her head. "Kol said it was a curse."

"It is a curse," Bonnie nodded.

"Then it's not his fault," her shoulders pushed back, raising her up to her full height. "He was cursed. That can be undone."

"You're forgetting the blood affliction," Bonnie translated for Elena.

Caroline turned her eyes on the warrior woman, noticing for the first time how her sharp edges had softened; Elena returned her gaze and spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully.

"It's not that he's _feikinstafi_ … cursed… it's what that curse tells Mikael. It tells him that Niklaus is _oskilgetinn_."

"Oskilgetinn?" Caroline's eyes narrowed. She wracked her brain but couldn't recall ever having come across the term. She looked to Bonnie, but the young witch appeared just as surprised as she did.

"Born out of wedlock?" Bonnie tilted her head and scrunched up her nose. "But he wasn't."

"No, not out of wedlock," Elena sighed, closing her eyes.

Caroline found the strength to take the rag and scrub at her shaking hands.

"Oskilgetinn," Elena repeated, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. "Esther is his mother, but it means that Mikael is not his father. A man with the same curse was, and Mikael will kill him because he never cared for Niklaus and because he is oskilgetinn."

 _A bastard?_ Caroline exhaled in a rush. The world around them slowed to the space between heartbeats and she barely heard Elena's dark mutter about it not being considered murder since Mikael would be killing the beast. But how could he do such a thing? There was no possible way Mikael could have known before hand, and until he did know Klaus was still the son he had raised. How could one little fact undo two decades of familial development? Whether Mikael had ever liked him or not, Klaus was still his son; even if he wasn't. Right?

She was so lost in her own thoughts she didn't fight them when they directed her from the water.

* * *

Normal. Everything had to be normal, but what even was normal?

He didn't think he knew anymore.

How could he?

He had thought everything in his life to be perfectly ordinary, as ordinary as a life could be, and then every bone in his body broke and reformed, and he spent a night running around on all fours.

What was normal?

Air filled his lungs and left his body again.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

The give and take centred him in the house. He righted a stool.

Inhale; he stacked the logs by the hearth.

Exhale; his eyes sought Caroline.

Inhale; she wiped down sturdy jars and replaced them on the shelf.

Exhale.

Her spine stiffened, head turning sharply towards the door.

Inhale.

The air left him in a rush. Slowly he became aware of more noises outside of his own body. In the distance, from the rutted road, came the thundering sound of hooves fast approaching.

Caroline patted down damp edges of her hair and twisted the heavy strands until they were hidden. Her hands fell to her belt and fidgeted, tugging and straightening. The way she fussed and fretted brought a fond smile to his lips; a tired chuckle accompanied it.

"Don't laugh at me," she scolded. "We're supposed to be normal." Her hands settled on her hips.

"Being amused by your neurotic tendencies is the only thing that feels normal," he reached for her waist, wondering how much she understood. She was right though; they had to be normal. He had no interest in losing his head, or in leaving her alone to raise their child alone.

"Niklaus?" His father's shout broke through the walls.

Should he even be thinking of him as his such? He was the only father he had ever known, but he also knew beyond any doubts that his brothers' fears were well founded and that the only father he had ever known would end his existence in the blink of an eye if he found out.

That made him feel strangely light and heavy at the same time.

"Niklaus?"

The second shout came on the heels of a crash, signalling that the door had been knocked off its hinges. He mentally added the repair to the list of things to do, already feeling the strain in his arms.

Any concern that might have laced Mikael's tone melted the moment he stormed inside and found Klaus with Caroline. His narrow eyes flicked between the young couple.

"Did you not hear me shouting, boy?" Disdain coloured his tone.

A dozen scars throbbed with an echo of childhood wounds. Involuntarily his hands tightened on her hips.

"We heard you, father," he swallowed the bitter taste on his tongue.

"And after the events of last night you thought not to answer." Mikael's eyes flashed. His feet kicked up dirt as he crossed the room.

Caroline fidgeted and he resisted his urge to pull her closer, allowing her instead to step away. His eyes followed her as she cut a path out of Mikael's way towards the hearth and busied her hands by adding a second log to the fire and stirring the stew pot*, but he saw the way her foot rubbed at the ground beneath her skirt.

"Events, father?" His brows lowered in what he hoped was a truly quizzical expression. "What events transpired last night?"

"You didn't hear the howling?" Mikael glanced towards Caroline as she perched on the raised hearth and started grinding corn for flour.

"Do you refer to the wind?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"You know I do not," he seethed. "The beast was outside this house," his hand gestured towards the door. "There are tracks around the door and stables."

He saw Caroline's face pale from the corner of his eye, but Mikael was too preoccupied with his tirade to notice.

"How could you not have heard it?" His pale eyes finally cut to Caroline when the grinding slowed. "You," he crossed the space and grabbed her arm.

"You must have heard it." He yanked her to her feet. The shallow bowl she used to grind flour fell from her hand, spilling half ground corn over the dirt.

Caroline's drawn face lacked her usual defiance when she looked up into Mikael's angry features and he didn't know if the fight had finally gone out of her or if she was simply exhausted, but the fear she usually kept buried deep manifested in a trembling lip. A pained whimper drew his eyes to the tight grip Mikael held on her upper arm and he saw red.

"Leave her be," he snapped, breaking his father hold and placing his body between them. His hand came up, gently cupping her arm.

"As soon as she answers the question," Mikael sneered, reaching for Klaus' arm.

"Facere non," Caroline gripped his shirt, letting her nails scratch the skin underneath. Fear shone through her eyes and he caught the barest reflection of gold in the green depths.

He took a deep breath and the gold vanished. How often had that happened? How many times had she seen it and thought nothing of it, or shaken it off?

"She doesn't speak our language father," he rubbed her arm with his thumb, silently willing her to remain quiet. Though, he suspected the encouragement to be unnecessary since she could have told him not to turn around in his own tongue.

"Then perhaps Kol's slave girl can explain," Mikael's gravelly voice moved backwards. "His household and yours will rejoin us in the village until this mess is sorted out."

"Is that necessary?" His heart stuttered.

"The beast was outside this house last night and by some miracle you are both unscathed." He held the couple in a cool stare when Klaus finally turned back around. "Such good fortune will not last. Pack your things and prepare to move. I shall expect you both by sundown tomorrow."

His tone brokered no argument, and he didn't stick around long enough to give them a chance.

"Klaus," Caroline stared after his retreat and breathed slowly, willing strength into her weak legs. A blinding pain gripped her stomach and she held tighter to his arm, breathing through it. "We move?"

"Yes, love," he reached for her hand, squeezing gently. How was he meant to maintain normality under Mikael's watchful gaze?

* * *

Mid-afternoon found Caroline packing preserves in baskets and bags and doing her best to ignore the constant ache in her back. The basket of apples was already by the door. When she was finished with the preserves she moved into the bedroom and started folding linens and furs, keeping one ear on the distant sounds of animals outside.

She didn't fully understand the words Mikael had said or their true implication until Klaus started bringing the animals out of the stable. There weren't many, just a couple of cows and a very pregnant pig who's mate had disappeared during the storm.

She was trying really hard not to think about that.

With an armful of folded furs she crossed back into the main part of the house with the intention of loading the burden into the cart. Three feet from the door a cramp gripped her stomach so strong that she fell to her knees, dropping the basket of cloths.

She bit her lip, but a cry still got out. Her body curled in on itself as she dropped the rest of the way to the ground and fumbled with her skirts. She managed to left the material and poked her hand between her legs.

Her fingers came away red.

She choked on her sob and stared at the thick blood.

Outside he looked up from tying the horse to the cart and turned towards the house, listening for a sound he hoped he had misinterpreted but the quiet cries reached him. He abandoned the animals and ran into the house, tripping over a basket inside the door. His eyes took a moment to readjust to the dark and see her curled on her side.

At first he didn't know what to make of the scene, but he immediately fell to his knees behind her and pulled her up into his arms. When she buried her tear stained face in his chest he finally added up the signs: her clutched stomach and heart wrenching sobs, the hiked skirt and the blood on her fingers.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached down, took the hem of her skirt in his hand and carefully dragged the material up. Blood clung to her thighs and seeped through the material beneath her body.

His stomach dropped to somewhere around his feet.

She gasped for breath, crying harder when she couldn't catch it and he rubbed her hair, murmuring nonsense that somehow managed to calm her; in no small part because she couldn't see the hot tears on his own face.

He knew what he should have done. He should have moved her somewhere more comfortable and gone for his brother, or his mother, or Bonnie, but he couldn't leave her. Not while she was crying. Not while they were losing something so precious.

So he held her tight through the pain and the tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Okay, so Vikings often left the stew from a previous day boiling over the dying embers of the fire and just added to the base again and again until eventually it was thrown out and they started again from scratch.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are always appreciated. 😃


End file.
